“Not that, Maury,—oh, what shall I say to you!”
Maurice saw that he was really distressing Ann and like the gentleman that he was he hastened to reassure her. “Well, Ann, if this really worries you, I will not talk about it. You understand what I think, at any rate. Think it over, but do not let it spoil your good time. I’ll not remind you of it for some time,—unless some one of the boys gets too deeply interested in you. I’m glad that you are going to a girls’ school, anyhow.”
“Meanwhile, you will find the right girl, Maurice.”
Maurice smiled. “We’ll go back to the old cousinly relation, if you like,” said he, “but I claim all the privileges of affection.” Rising, he held out his hands to Ann, who put her own in them, letting him draw her to her feet. Then he took her arm lightly and led her along the walks again, approaching the house. They talked of other things, but when Ann left Maurice at the foot of the stairs, he said. “Perhaps, after all, I’m not too closely related.”
“The proverbial infant, changed in its cradle?” laughed Ann.
“Something like that, perhaps.”
Ann did not think that Maurice had any such idea, but still, when she entered the drawing room and found no one but her mother present, she asked, “Isn’t Maurice Aunt Sue’s son?”
“Certainly.”
“And isn’t Aunt Sue your own sister?”