It had never occurred to Harry Edgham to marry Aunt Maria. It had
never occurred to him that she might think of the possibility of such
a thing. It was now nearly a year since his wife's death. He himself
began to take more pains with his attire. Maria noticed it. She saw
her father go out one evening clad in a new, light-gray suit, which
he had never worn before. She looked at him wonderingly when he
kissed her good-bye. Harry never left the house without kissing his
little daughter.

"Why, you've got a new suit, father," she said.

Harry blushed. "Do you like it, dear?" he asked.

"No, father, I don't like it half as well as a dark one," replied
Maria, in a sweet, curt little voice. Her father colored still more,
and laughed, then he went away.

Aunt Maria, to Maria's mind, was very much dressed-up that evening.
She had on a muslin dress with sprigs of purple running through it,
and a purple ribbon around her waist. She made up her mind that she
would stay up until her father came home, in that new gray suit, no
matter what Aunt Maria should say.

However, contrary to her usual custom, Aunt Maria did not mention, at
half-past eight, that it was time for her to go to bed. It was
half-past nine, and her father had not come home, and Aunt Maria had
said nothing about it. She appeared to be working very interestedly
on a sofa-cushion which she was embroidering, but her face looked, to
Maria's mind, rather woe-begone, although there was a shade of wrath
in the woe. When the little clock on the sitting-room shelf struck