"But Aunt Agatha," flashed the girl, "I'm not at all anxious to marry."

Aunt Agatha burst into a calamitous shower of tears.

"Aunt Agatha," said Diane kindly, "why not remember that you're no
longer burdened with the terrible responsibility of bringing Carl and
me up? We're both mature, responsible beings."

Aunt Agatha dabbed defiantly at her eyes.

"Well," she said flatly, "I shan't worry, I just shan't. I'm past
that. There was a time, but at my time of life I just can't afford it.
You can do as you please. You can go shoot alligators if you want to,
Diane, I shan't interpose another objection. But the trials that I've
endured in my life through the Westfalls, nobody knows. I was a
cheerful, happy person until I knew the Westfalls. And your father was
notional too. I was a Gregg, Diane, until I married your uncle--he
wasn't really your uncle, but a sort of cousin--and the Greggs, thank
heavens! are mild and quiet and never wander about. Dear me, if a
Gregg should take to sleeping by a lake in spring-time under a planting
moon, I would be surprised, I would indeed! There was only one in our
whole family who ever galloped about to any extent--Uncle Peter
Gregg--and you really couldn't blame him. Bulls were perpetually
running into him, and once he fell overboard and a whale chased him to
shore. Isn't it funny? Strangest thing! But there, Diane, I wonder
your poor dear grandfather doesn't turn straight over in his grave--I
do indeed. Many and many a time your poor father tried him sorely--and
Carl's mother too." Aunt Agatha sniffed meekly.

"Will you go alone?" she ventured, wiping her eyes.