Another gale of laughter drowned her words, and she sat there
dimpled, mischievous, naively looking around, yet in her careful
soul shrewdly pursuing her wise policy of airing all sentimental
matters in the family circle--letting in fresh air and sunshine on
what so often takes root and flourishes rather morbidly at sixteen.

"It's perfectly absurd," observed Ailsa, "at your age, Paige----"

"Mother was married at sixteen! Weren't you, dearest?"

"I certainly was; but _I_ am a bad rebel and _you_ are good little
Yankees; and good little Yankees wait till they're twenty odd befo'
they do anything ve'y ridiculous."

"We expect to wait," said Paige, with a dignified glance at her
sister.

"You've four years to wait, then," laughed Marye.

"What's the use of being courted if you have to wait four years?"

"And you've three years to wait, silly," retorted Paige. "But I
don't care; I'd rather wait. It isn't very long, now. Ailsa, why
don't you marry again?"

Ailsa's lip curled her comment upon the suggestion. She sat under
the crystal chandelier reading a Southern newspaper which had been
sent recently to Celia. Presently her agreeable voice sounded in
appreciative recitation of what she was reading.