"Well!" she gasped.

"What is the matter?" I demanded. "It's a public affair, isn't it?"

"It's a family affair--"

"Well, I consider the readers of the Banner a part of the family."



II. THE OLD-MAID AUNT

by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

I am relegated here in Eastridge to the position in which I suppose I
properly belong, and I dare say it is for my best spiritual and
temporal good. Here I am the old-maid aunt. Not a day, not an hour, not
a minute, when I am with other people, passes that I do not see myself
in their estimation playing that role as plainly as if I saw myself in
a looking-glass. It is a moral lesson which I presume I need. I have
just returned from my visit at the Pollards' country-house in
Lancaster, where I most assuredly did not have it. I do not think I
deceive myself. I know it is the popular opinion that old maids are
exceedingly prone to deceive themselves concerning the endurance of
their youth and charms, and the views of other people with regard to
them. But I am willing, even anxious, to be quite frank with myself.
Since--well, never mind since what time--I have not cared an iota
whether I was considered an old maid or not. The situation has seemed
to me rather amusing, inasmuch as it has involved a secret willingness