In a short time Aurelia was comfortably installed in bed. Chelda in morbid curiosity hung over her as long as she could extort a remark from her. But when the sleeping-draught administered by Miss Gastonguay began to take effect, the young lady sought her own room, detained first by Miss Gastonguay, who asked, with determination, "What does this mean?"
"What, aunt?"
"You know. Mr. Huntington's departure. Are you worrying about it?"
"A little, aunt, not much."
Miss Gastonguay had her glasses on, and she looked straight into Chelda's eyes. There was no veil over them now. They had never appeared more clear, more honest, more heart-whole.
"I never understand you," she said, impatiently. "I thought you were beginning to take an interest in that young man. He seems to have been dangling about you a good deal lately."
"Well, to tell the truth, I was beginning to like him a trifle, but this settles it," and she scornfully filliped the note she still held in her hand. "He does not know his own mind. He is as fickle as the wind. Really, I do not think I care to marry."
"Child, I would like to see you with a husband and children of your own. The Gastonguays are dying out."
"What does it matter who comes after us?"
"Well, please yourself, I don't want to get rid of you," and Miss Gastonguay went thoughtfully to her own room.