and never'd had a chance to be married, and if one o' them artful creturs
you was talkin' of got hold of her, then, to be sure,--why, dear
me!--law! I never thought, Miss Badlam!--but then of course you could
have had your pickin' and choosin' in the time of it; and I don't mean to
say it's too late now if you felt called that way, for you're better
lookin' now than some that's younger, and there's no accountin' for
tastes."

A sort of hysteric twitching that went through the frame of Cynthia
Badlam dimly suggested to the old nurse that she was not making her
slightly indiscreet personality much better by her explanations. She
stopped short, and surveyed the not uncomely person of the maiden lady
sitting before her with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes, and one
hand clenching the arm of the reeking-chair, as if some spasm had clamped
it there. The nurse looked at her with a certain growing interest she
had never felt before. It was the first time for some years that she had
had such a chance, partly because Miss Cynthia had often been away for
long periods,--partly because she herself had been busy professionally.
There was no occasion for her services, of course, in the family at The
Poplars; and she was always following round from place to place after
that everlasting migratory six-weeks or less old baby.

There was not a more knowing pair of eyes, in their way, in a circle of
fifty miles, than those kindly tranquil orbs that Nurse Byloe fixed on
Cynthia Badlam. The silver threads in the side fold of hair, the
delicate lines at the corner of the eye, the slight drawing down at the
angle of the mouth,--almost imperceptible, but the nurse dwelt upon
it,--a certain moulding of the features as of an artist's clay model
worked by delicate touches with the fingers, showing that time or pain or
grief had had a hand in shaping them, the contours, the adjustment of