"Certainly. I had many offers," replies Miss Priscilla, promptly,—which is one of the few lies she allows herself; "I was persecuted by suitors in my younger days; but I refused them all. And if you will take my advice, Lilian," says this virgin, with much solemnity, "you will never, never put yourself into clutches of a man." She utters this last word as though she would have said a tiger or a serpent, or anything else ruthless and bloodthirsty. "But all this is beside the question."
"It is, rather," says Lilian, demurely. But, suddenly brightening, "Between my dismal dreaming last night I thought of another plan."
"Another!" with open dismay.
"Yes,"—triumphantly,—"it occurred to me that this bugbear my cousin might go abroad again. Like the Wandering Jew, he is always traveling; and who knows but he may take a fancy to visit the South Pole, or discover the Northwestern Passage, or go with Jules Verne to the centre of the earth? If so, why should not I remain here and keep house for him? What can be simpler?"
"Nothing,"—tritely,—"but unfortunately he is not going abroad again."
"No! How do you know that?"
"Through Mr. Shrude, the solicitor."
"Ah!" says Lilian, in a despairing tone, "how unhappy I am! Though I might have known that wretched young man would be the last to do what is his palpable duty." There is a pause. Lilian's head sinks upon her hand; dejection shows itself in every feature. She sighs so heavily that Miss Priscilla's spirits rise and she assures herself the game is won. Rash hope.
Suddenly Lilian's countenance clears; she raises her head, and a faint smile appears within her eyes.
"Aunt Priscilla, I have yet another plan," she says, cheerfully.