"How much older?" Edith demanded; "a year?"

"I don't just know. Probably twenty years older."

Edith was silent, rapidly adding up nineteen and twenty; then she
gasped, "_Thirty-nine_!"

"Well, about that; and father is sorry, because Maurice can't go back to
college. He will have to go into business."

Edith saw no cause for regret in this. "Guess he's glad not to have to
learn things! But why weren't we invited to the wedding? I always meant
to be Maurice's bridesmaid."

Mrs. Houghton said she didn't know. Edith was silent, for a whole
minute. Then she said, soberly:

"I suppose father's sorry 'cause she'll die so soon, she's so old? And
then Maurice will feel awfully. Poor Maurice! Well, I'll live with him,
and comfort him."

"My dear, I'm fifty!" Mrs. Houghton said, much amused.

"Oh, well, _you_--" Edith demurred; "that's different. You're my mother,
and you--" She paused; "I never thought of you being old, or dying,
_ever_. And yet I suppose you are rather old?" She pondered. "I suppose
some day you'll die? Mother!--promise me you won't!" she said,
quaveringly.

"Edith, don't be a goose!" Mrs. Houghton said, laughing--but she turned