"Carter! why he is only a boy eighteen years old; he is younger than she is."
"Oh, well, he is not so very much younger, and he would do on a pinch. I can't think of any one else at present, Mary Lee, if you must have a husband for her. To be sure there is Mr. St. Nick, but he is as much too old as Carter is too young; in fact he is old enough to be her grandfather."
"I didn't say anything about a husband; I was only thinking how we could cheer her up."
"Well, a husband would do that if we could find the proper one. I'm sure no one could be more cheerful than Carter."
"Oh, Nan, you are so silly; he will not do at all."
Nan laughed wickedly. "Perhaps you want to save him for yourself when you are older."
"I think you are perfectly horrid," returned her sister. "When I come to you for advice and sympathy you are mighty mean to be so—so—flippant. I don't believe you care one bit for Miss Dolores."
"I care for her lots, but I'm not so silly about her as you are. I don't go hoarding up her cast-off shoe-strings and her discarded hairpins as you do."
"I never did save a hairpin, and you know it."
"Well, it is only because you don't happen to have found one," retorted Nan. Then came the strumming on the pane and the humming of the Spanish song while Mary Lee nursed her grievance. After awhile Nan broke the silence by saying in conciliatory tones: "What is it you want me to do? I'm sure we did all we could at Christmas, and she had a lovely time. Wasn't it funny to have such a summery Christmas, with flowers growing out of doors and all that? And didn't Mr. St. Nick make a fine Santa Claus? I think he had courage to take the character when he looks it so exactly. 'His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry,'" she quoted.