I would depreciate aunts—by the way, he has but one, I believe?" Lisbeth nodded coldly. 

 "Of course," I nodded; "and very lucky in that one—extremely fortunate. Now, years ago, when I was a boy, I had three, and all of them blanks, so to speak. I mean none of them ever read to me out of the history book, or helped me to sail boats, or paddled and lost their—No, mine used to lecture me about my hair and nails, I remember, and glare at me over the big tea urn until I choked into my teacup. A truly desolate childhood mine. I had no big-fisted uncle to thump me persuasively when I needed it; had fortune granted me one I might have been a very different man, Lisbeth. You behold in me a horrible example of what one may become whose boyhood has been denuded of uncles." 

 "If you will be so very obliging as to return my—my property." 

 "My dear Lisbeth," I sighed, "be reasonable; suppose we talk of something else;" and I attempted, though quite vainly, to direct her attention to the glories of the sunset. 

 A fallen tree lay near by, upon which Lisbeth seated herself with a certain determined set of her little, round chin that I knew well. 

 "And how long do you intend keeping me here?" she asked in a resigned tone. 

 "Always, if I had my way." 

 "Really?" she said, and whole volumes could never describe all the scorn she managed to put into that single word.  "You see," she continued, "after what Aunt Agatha wrote and told me—" 

 "Lisbeth," I broke in, "if you'll only—" 

 "I naturally supposed—" 

 "If you'll only let me explain—" 

 "That you would abide by the promise you made her and wait—" 

 "Until you knew your own heart," I put in.  "The question is, how long will it take you? Probably, if you would allow me to teach you—" 

 "Your presence here now stamps you as—as horribly deceitful!" 

 "Undoubtedly," I nodded; "but you see when I was foolish enough to give that promise your very excellent Aunt made no reference to her intentions regarding a certain Mr. Selwyn." 

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