I would have staid to ask her why she supposed me to be attracted by queer persons, but she touched my arm, and as an automaton I turned toward the parlor and stepped into the room, to meet Mr. Elkin, a frail and timid-looking young fellow with plastered hair; Miss Rodney, a pinkish creature of uncertain age, the "splendid catch" which Mrs. Estell had set aside for me; and Mrs. Braxon, the aunt. She looked queer, and I could not have denied that she interested me. She was very tall, straight and stiff, with eyes that suggested a savage. Into her aged mouth the artifice of the dentist had put the teeth of youth, and, not yet accustomed to them, she imposed upon her lips the double exertion of talking with her jaws shut.
"Well," she said, looking hard at me, "and you are the man that Giles has been telling me so much about? But, conscience alive, he ought to have something to talk of besides politics."
"You are his favorite sister, I believe," I replied, with the giggle of Miss Rodney in my ears.
"Do you? Well, I married his brother, if that's what you mean."
"Is he living?" I inquired.
"Florence," she said, "it's strange that you haven't told Mr. What's-his-name anything about me. Every time I come here I come as a stranger, a rank stranger."
"Why, Aunt Patsey, I told him—"
"She told me a great deal about you, Mrs. Braxon," I put in, "but my memory is, you might say, not good."
"Oh, yes, and I suppose Giles Talcom told you all about me, too; told you that I was his favorite sister, didn't he? Well, it's all right. Miss Rodney, what are you giggling about?"
"Why, nothing at all, Mrs. Braxon," the young woman declared, growing pinker. The old lady looked at Elkin, and he started and slammed his knees together. I glanced at Mrs. Estell, and she hid her eyes from me, afraid to laugh.