"It is true," said Mrs. Thayer, putting two diminutive stitches in the collar which she was embroidering, "it is undeniably true, Lynn, that the poor boy has been a little wild. But he wants to settle down."
"If he wants to settle down with me, Aunt Lucy, he can want."
"Lynn, is that the remark of a lady?"
"It is; and, furthermore, it is the remark of a lady who knows her own mind."
Mrs. Thayer raised a tiny handkerchief to her eyes and deposited two tinier tears, thereupon. Long practice had made her an adept in the gentle art of weeping, by which art she had succeeded in establishing an absolute monarchy in her own home.
"Oh, Lynn, what a way to talk," she wept, gently, "when the poor boy is so fond of you and has such a good salary and a house of his own, besides. How few young men have houses of their own that you can walk right into as soon as you marry them! What are you laughing at? And anyway he is much too good for you and besides Eva Holt would jump at him."
"Let her jump."
"Ah, Lynn, you have no natural, womanly instincts."
"I am afraid I am lacking in some."
"Such a nice house as it is, too," sighed her aunt, "and all being done over—new plumbing, electric light and everything! Electric light is so nice to read by. How fortunate it is that his uncle di—that is to say, how fortunate it is that his uncle left it to him."