"Send her away; I don't want to buy it. She has probably gone to
look for you and is wandering about upstairs; she didn't seem at
all intelligent. You had better tell her it's no matter." And
then, since the girl stood there hesitating and wondering, this
unexpected critic said to her abruptly: "I suppose you're one of
the daughters?"

Isabel thought she had very strange manners. "It depends upon
whose daughters you mean."

"The late Mr. Archer's--and my poor sister's."

"Ah," said Isabel slowly, "you must be our crazy Aunt Lydia!"

"Is that what your father told you to call me? I'm your Aunt
Lydia, but I'm not at all crazy: I haven't a delusion! And which
of the daughters are you?"

"I'm the youngest of the three, and my name's Isabel."

"Yes; the others are Lilian and Edith. And are you the prettiest?"

"I haven't the least idea," said the girl.

"I think you must be." And in this way the aunt and the niece
made friends. The aunt had quarrelled years before with her
brother-in-law, after the death of her sister, taking him to task
for the manner in which he brought up his three girls. Being a
high-tempered man he had requested her to mind her own business,