is not a line on my face, that I still keep my girl color with no aid,
that I wear frills of the latest fashion, and look no older than when
he first saw me. I really do not know myself how I have managed to
remain so intact; possibly because I have always grasped all the minor
sweets of life, even if I could not have the really big worth-while
ones. I honestly do not think that I have had the latter. But I have
not taken the position of some people, that if I cannot have what I
want most I will have nothing. I have taken whatever Providence chose
to give me in the way of small sweets, and made the most of them. Then
I have had much womanly pride, and that is a powerful tonic.

For instance, years ago, when my best lamp of life went out, so to
speak, I lit all my candles and kept my path. I took just as much pains
with my hair and my dress, and if I was unhappy I kept it out of
evidence on my face. I let my heart ache and bleed, but I would have
died before I wrinkled my forehead and dimmed my eyes with tears and
let everybody else know. That was about the time when I met Ned Temple,
and he fell so madly in love with me, and threatened to shoot himself
if I would not marry him. He did not. Most men do not. I wonder if he
placed me when he heard of my anticipated coming. Probably he did not.
They have probably alluded to me as dear old Aunt Elizabeth, and when
he met me (I was staying at Harriet Munroe's before she was married)
nobody called me Elizabeth, but Lily. Miss Elizabeth Talbert, instead
of Lily Talbert, might naturally set him wrong. Everybody here calls me
Elizabeth. Outside Eastridge I am Lily. I dare say Ned Temple has not
dreamed who I am. I hear that he is quite brilliant, although the poor
fellow must be limited as to his income. However, in some respects it
must be just as well. It would be a great trial to a man with a large
income to have a wife like Mrs. Temple, who could make no good use of
it. You might load that poor soul with crown jewels and she would make