"Annie," her aunt replied, this time with an air of insulted dignity, "I shall speak to your father about this when he comes home to-night. The idea of a chit of a girl like you asking me if I have ever been in love! You have known me all your life; have I ever acted as though I were in love?"
"The question is easy to answer," the girl persisted. "Yes or no."
Seeing that the girl was not to be put off, Jane Benton pulled a needle out of her knitting—for Thompson Benton wore knit socks to keep peace in the family, since his sister believed that should he go down town wearing a pair of the flimsy kind he kept for sale, he would return in the evening only to fall dead in her arms—and picked her teeth with it while she reflected. And while about it, her manner softened so much that, when she went out of the room soon after, Annie believed there was a suspicion of tears in her eyes. She remained away such a length of time that the girl feared she had really offended the worthy woman, and was preparing to go out and look for her, when she came back wiping her eyes with her apron, and carrying a great packet of letters, which she threw down on the table in front of Annie.
"There!" she said pettishly. "Since you are so curious, read them."
The girl was very much amused at the turn affairs had taken, and, after breaking the string which held the letters together, looked over several of them. They were dated in the year Annie was born, and one seemed to have been written on her birthday. They all referred to her aunt in the most loving and extravagant terms possible; and while thinking how funny it was that her wrinkled aunt should be referred to as dear little angel, the Ancient Maiden said,—
"In love! I was crazy! And I can't laugh about it yet, though it seems to be so amusing to you."
"It only amuses me because I know now that you are like other women," the girl replied quietly. "I think more of you than ever, now that I know you have been in love."
"Well, you ought to think a good deal of me, then," the Ancient Maiden said, "for I was so crazy after the writer of those letters that I couldn't sleep. Love him! I thought he was different from any other man who ever lived, and I worshipped him; I made a god of him, and would have followed him to the end of the earth."
There was more animation in Aunt Jane's voice than Annie had ever noticed before, and she waved the knitting needle at her niece as though she were to blame for getting her into a love mess.
"He knew every string leading to my heart," the excited maid continued, "and he had more control over me than I ever had over myself. It was a fortunate thing that he was an honorable man. Now you know it all, and I feel ashamed of myself."