"A very worthy, cultivated gentleman, Roberta," Miss La Sarthe announced
to her sister. "We must ask him to dinner the next time Mr. Miller is
coming. We must show him some attention for his kindness to our
great-niece; he will understand and not allow it to flatter him too
much. You remember, Roberta, our Mamma always said unmarried women--of
any age--cannot be too careful of _les convenances_, but we might ask
him to dinner under the circumstances--don't you think so?"

"Oh, I am sure--yes, sister--but I wish you would not talk so of our
age," Miss Roberta said, rather fretfully for her. "You were only
seventy-two last November, and I shall not be sixty-nine until
March--and if you remember, Aunt Agatha lived to ninety-one, and Aunt
Mildred to ninety-four! So we are not so very old as yet."

"The more reason for us to be careful then," retorted the elder lady,
and Miss Roberta subsided with a sigh as she took her guitar from the
wall and began in her gentle old quavering voice to trill out one of her
many love-songs.

The guitar had not been tuned for several days, and had run down into a
pitiful flatness; Halcyone could hardly sit still, it hurt her so--but
it was only when Miss Roberta had begun a second warble that either she
or Miss La Sarthe noticed the jar. Then a helpless look grew in the
songstress's faded eyes.

"Halcyone, dear--I think you might tune the instrument for me," she
said. "I almost think the top string is not quite true, and you do it so
quickly."

And grateful for the chance, the child soon had it perfectly accorded,