Fairy said, "She carries on a prolonged discussion, and argues and orates, without saying a word."
The members of the Ladies' Aid, who hastened to call, said, "She is perfectly charming—such a fine conversationalist!"
She was always attractively dressed, always self-possessed, always friendly, always good-natured, and the girls found her presence only pleasing. She relieved Prudence, admired Fairy, laughed at the twins, adored Connie. Between her and Mr. Starr there was a frank camaraderie, charming, but seldom found between brothers- and sisters-in-law.
"Of course, Aunt Grace," Prudence told her sweetly, "we aren't going to be selfish with you. We don't expect you to bury yourself in the parsonage. Whenever you want to trip away for a while, you must feel free to go. We don't intend to monopolize you, however much we want to do so. Whenever you want to go, you must go."
"I shan't want to go," said Aunt Grace quickly.
"Not right away, of course," Prudence agreed. "But you'll find our liveliness tiring. Whenever you do want to go—"
"I don't think I shall want to go at all," she answered. "I like it here. I—I like liveliness."
Then Prudence kissed her gratefully.
For several weeks after her initiation in the parsonage, life rolled along sweetly and serenely. There were only the minor, unavoidable mishaps and disciplinary measures common to the life of any family. Of course, there were frequent, stirring verbal skirmishes between Fairy and the twins, and between the twins and Connie. But these did not disturb their aunt. She leaned back in her chair, or among the cushions, listening gravely, but with eyes that always smiled.
Then came a curious lull.