breakfast-table to her aunt. There was a moment's hush, and
then the flood-gates opened.

"I can tell you nothing, Aunt Juley. I know no more
than you do. We met--we only met the father and mother
abroad last spring. I know so little that I didn't even
know their son's name. It's all so--" She waved her hand
and laughed a little.

"In that case it is far too sudden."

"Who knows, Aunt Juley, who knows?"

"But, Margaret dear, I mean we mustn't be unpractical
now that we've come to facts. It is too sudden, surely."

"Who knows!"

"But Margaret dear--"

"I'll go for her other letters," said Margaret. "No, I
won't, I'll finish my breakfast. In fact, I haven't them.
We met the Wilcoxes on an awful expedition that we made from
Heidelberg to Speyer. Helen and I had got it into our heads
that there was a grand old cathedral at Speyer--the
Archbishop of Speyer was one of the seven electors--you
know--'Speyer, Maintz, and Koln.' Those three sees once
commanded the Rhine Valley and got it the name of Priest Street."

"I still feel quite uneasy about this business, Margaret."