The kind wise youth could not find it in his heart to strike away the
phantom straw she caught at.

"Oh! about that, I should fancy," he muttered; and found it necessary at
the same time to duck and turn his head for concealment. Mrs. Doria
surpassed his expectations.

"Yes I well, then..." Brandon was resuming with a shrug, which was meant
to say he still pledged himself to nothing, when Clare's voice was heard
from out the buzzing circle of her cousins: "Richard is nineteen years
and six months old to-day, mama."

"Nonsense, child."

"He is, mama." Clare's voice was very steadfast.

"Nonsense, I tell you. How can you know?"

"Richard is one year and nine months older than me, mama."

Mrs. Doria fought the fact by years and finally by months. Clare was too
strong for her.

"Singular child!" she mentally apostrophized the girl who scornfully
rejected straws while drowning.

"But there's the religion still!" she comforted herself, and sat down to
cogitate.

The men smiled and looked vacuous.