And she marched us into my room.
"Isn't this fine!" I said, looking around at the old room, glad to be home again.
It was twenty by twenty, the pioneer size, with a great fireplace, built of oak and ash. In a corner was my old mahogany tester bed, big posted and canopy-topped. The little cherry writing desk stood near, and so did the quaint mahogany bureau, resting on dragon claws, with great drawers for a base, and ending pyramid-like in a top of granite finish, set off by a little mirror, and with a tiny shaving drawer for my razors. Big windows looked out on all sides.
After Eloise had left Aunt Lucretia sat quietly thinking, looking now and then at a pedigree of Eloise which she had once made and hung over my mantel. It was framed in walnut and decorated with fancy letters. At last she smiled.
"Isn't she a thoroughbred, Jack?"
"I haven't really got my breath yet, Aunt Lucretia," I answered. "I never dreamed she would grow into a being so beautiful. Don't you really believe you might er—er—hurry up this—er—affair—" and I stopped, blushing.
Aunt Lucretia broke out in her rare, good-humored laugh.
"Poor boy! Jack, you must be careful. You talk as if you had a real case of the silly, unsensible thing."
"Always had it, Aunt Lucretia," I smiled weakly.
"Jack, that would be very unfortunate. I want you to marry on common sense—not love."