over head in love with the likes of me! Can you beat it? Well, that's
what I mean when I say you never can tell. You just keep a stiff upper
lip, Freddie--and grow a little, of course--and it wouldn't surprise
me in the least if you conquered the proud Miss Fairweather's haughty
heart. Nothing--NOTHING on God's earth would surprise me now. Go in
and win, Freddie. Of course, she is about twelve years older'n you are
at present, but as time goes on she'll be getting younger. We always
do. By the time you are thirty you will have caught up to her, I can
tell you that. Take Mr. Diggs, for instance; he thinks I am only
twenty-six. He says it's a crime for a man of his age--he's thirty-
seven--to be making eyes at a soft young thing like me. He knows I'm
only twenty-six, but what he don't know is that I was born nearly ten
years before he even starts to counting. Now, in a very few years you
will be twenty. Well, by that time she will be only eight years older
than you are. You see, women don't put on years as rapidly as men.
It's a peculiar trick of nature. I don't suppose there is another
living creature in all God's dominion that lives as long as a woman
does before it can get past thirty. Take Miss Stokes, the nurse, for
instance. She's been nearly nine years going from twenty-seven to
twenty-nine. So there you are. You just keep on growing up, Freddie--
you needn't hurry, either--putting on a year every twelve months, and
before you know it you'll be six months older than Miss Fairweather.
Then--"

"Yes, but how about this big Flanders?" protested Frederick. "He's
already grown-up and--"

"Nothing to it," said Melissa, "He hasn't got any money. He can't give
her diamonds and fine raiment. He's got to ask her to wait till he's
able to marry, hasn't he? Well, while she's about it, why shouldn't