There are so many symptoms which, in a young woman, may seem to indicate
the disease of love that one making a hasty diagnosis is likely to fall
upon that malady, it being prevalent in spring, both of the year and of
life. I had believed that my cousin's healthful vanity and quiet strength
of character would, in a measure, keep her safe from this troublesome
spring disorder, but my uncle's account of her doings led me to fear that
perhaps her wholesome armor of self-conceit was not so invulnerable as
I had hoped.

Later I spoke my half-formed doubt to Sarah, who answered:--

"I don't know what she is doing. I attend to my own business; that is,
unless I see profit in meddling elsewhere."

"Ah, but this is your business and mine if we love your sister, as you
will say when you learn the object of my visit," I answered, hoping to
loosen her cautious tongue.

Sarah's eyes opened wide with a question in them, but her lips remained
sealed, and I would not satisfy her curiosity, which I knew was at
boiling-point, until she had made a direct request. Her manner had
resolved my doubts into fears, so as she did not speak, I continued:--

"But you must be able to form an opinion as to what your sister is doing.
You are with her all the time, and every young girl instinctively knows
the symptoms of love, even though she may never have felt them."

"Not I!" she answered, with sharp emphasis.

"Oh, but you may suspect or surmise," I insisted.