Aunt Clo, after her fashion, reappeared abruptly from some labyrinthine tangle of lives unknown, from which her hand, and seemingly hers only, could evolve a clue.
"Ecco! my little one," said she. "I hardly thought that we should meet again thus. Eheu fugaces!"
Her tone was not free from reproach.
"I am very glad that you have come," said Lily.
Her aunt's head was graciously bent in acknowledgment towards her.
"I also. There was a time, my Lily, when I thought that you might wish to claim my help—such help as my knowledge of Life enables me to give. You know, perhaps better than most, whether I grudge the spending of myself upon others."
Aunt Clo gave a melancholy smile at the mere supposition of anything so far removed from fact.
"Why, you ask me, did I not come forward, did I not speak freely and frankly, as is ever my wont? Ahimé! la verité, pour moi, c'est tout! Why did I not cast the bulwark of my strength before so frail a fortress, one so near capitulation? I reply, Because I am proud. Yes! c'est moi qui vous le dit, child. I am deeply, intimately, passionately proud."
Aunt Clo's head sank upon her breast at the admission, but very soon she raised it again and once more faced the world.
Her handsome face expressed a sort of joyous determination.