"You are rather severe, my dear," said Mrs. Verne, addressing her daughter in a somewhat petulant tone, then turning to her sister added, "Evelyn wishes to imply that Sir George is sixty. I can't see that he ought to pass for an old man. I've heard that he does not look an hour over forty; and twenty thousand a year Hester."
"He needs it all! poor man! for he will have a sorry time of it," said Mrs. Montgomery in a tone of mock compassion.
"But that's not the best of it, Aunt Hester, I must tell you the biggest joke you ever heard," cried Fred. Verne, now a handsome and intelligent stripling of eighteen, who had just appeared on the scene in time to have his say also. "You know that they went to Ottawa about a year ago, and shortly afterwards I found a copy of the Ottawa Times with an announcement that the Misses DeLister of New Brunswick were the guests of Mrs. Geoffrey Renfrew."
"DeLister," cried Mrs. Montgomery, between fits of laughter. "Well,
Fred, that is the best joke, indeed! No wonder they caught the poor
Cornish baronet."
Mrs. Verne did not relish her sister's raillery, but she had gained enough sense to say very little about the Listers and their stroke of good luck.
"I don't know how many letters I commenced with 'Dear Cousin Jennie,' and just as I got the length of the Listers new title something always happened to prevent my finishing."
"You need not try to invent any excuses to Cousin Jennie for your remissness my dear little brother," cried Marguerite, giving the youth a sisterly embrace with her fair arm, and running her fingers through the meshes of clustering curls.
"What a pity we never thought of that dodge before," cried Fred, brimming over with mischief. "I tell you what DeVerne would have stood high at Ottawa."
"Can't you let the poor Listers alone, Fred," exclaimed Evelyn, trying hard to look serious, as she glanced at the life of the house wedged in beside Aunt Hester on the dainty little sofa.
Evelyn now arose to give some orders for tea, Marguerite glanced over the evening paper, and seeing that Aunt Hester and her mother were on the eve of a quiet chat went to her own room. It was in the gloaming and the girl enjoyed that hour more than words can tell. Her thoughts were happy ones. All was now bright and fair, and if at times she took a retrospective glance at the unhappy past it gave her more cause to be thankful. It always brought up a quotation from a sermon which she heard in a church in Fredericton—