“Is he rich too?” asked the girl, laughing.
“I fancy not,” was the reply, “but I can't tell; he lives very plainly.”
“Aren't you afraid I'll fall in love with him, Auntie?”
“No,” said the other, smiling to herself; “I'm not worrying about that.”
“Why not?”
“Wait till you see him, my dear,” was the reply; “if you choose him for a husband I'll give my consent.”
“That sounds mysterious,” observed the girl, gazing at her aunt; “tell me, is he here now?”
“Yes,” said Aunt Polly; “he's been here a day or two; but I don't think you'll see him at dinner, because he has been feeling unwell today; he may be down a while this evening, for I've been telling him about you, and he's anxious to see you. You must be nice to him, Helen, and try to feel as sorry for him as I do.”
“Sorry for him?” echoed the girl with a start.
“Yes, my dear, he is an invalid, with some very dreadful affliction.”