“A meddlesome old maid!” thought Miss Carter. “That’s what I am!”
At last she had to say something.
“I think Mr. Rhodes is—very nice,” she observed, in an unexpectedly loud voice.
“Do you, auntie?” said Maude. “Well, I—I think so, too; but”—she turned away, to put some glasses up on a shelf—“but I’m afraid that he doesn’t consider me very interesting.”
“Nonsense, child!” cried Miss Carter.
“Well, I’m not,” said Maude. “I just don’t know anything!”
Miss Carter was on the point of telling Maude that she was a college graduate and a private secretary, and probably the most intelligent young woman alive; but something stopped her. Instead, she said that she must wind up the clock while she thought of it. In passing behind the girl, she laid a hand on her shoulder.
“My dear!” she said. “My dear!”
Their eyes met—those two pairs of blue eyes that were so much alike.
“Good night, auntie,” said Maude.