“Yes, aunt.”
“You have not told me who this Mr. Ensign is. In all the letters you wrote me you did not mention his name, I think.”
“No, aunt. The fact is, I did not meet him until a few days before I left, and then only for an evening, you might say.”
“Indeed! that one evening seems to have made its impression. Tell me something about him, Paula.”
“His own countenance speaks for him better than I can, aunt. He is good and he is kind; an honest young man, who need fear the eye of no one. He is wealthy, I am informed, and the son of highly respected parents. He was first presented to me by Miss Stuyvesant, whose friend he is, afterwards by Mr. Sylvester. His coming here was a surprise to me.”
Miss Belinda’s firm mouth, which had expanded at this dutiful response, twitched with a certain amused expression over this last announcement. Eying her niece with unrelenting inquiry, she pursued, “You have not been happy for the last few weeks, Paula. Our life seems narrow to you; you long to fly away to larger fields and more expansive skies.”
With a guilty droop of her head, Paula stole her hand into that of her aunt’s.
“I do not wonder,” continued Miss Belinda, still watching the flushing cheek and slightly troubled mouth of the lovely girl before her. “I once breathed other air myself, and know well what charms lie beyond these mountains. In giving you up for awhile, I gave you up forever, I fear.”
“No, no,” whispered the young girl, “I am always yours wherever I go. Not that I am going away,” she hastily murmured.
Her aunt smiled and gently stroked her niece’s hand. “When the time comes, I shall bid you God speed, Paula. I am no ogress to tie my dove’s wings to her nest. Love and the home it provides are the natural lot of women. None feel it more than those who have missed both.”