.

How many proposals did you have, Auntie ?' The old lady smiled; her thoughts were already diverted.
'Several, my dear! It is so long ago that I don't remember!' 'Oh yes, you do, Auntie! No woman ever forgets that, no matter what else she may or may not remember! Tell me, won't you ?' The old lady blushed slightly as she answered: 'There is no need to specify, my dear.

Let it be at this, that there were more than you could count on your right hand!' 'And why did you refuse them ?' The tone was wheedling, and the elder woman loved to hear it.

Wheedling is the courtship, by the young of the old.
'Because, my dear, I didn't love them.' 'But tell me, Auntie, was there never any one that you did love ?' 'Ah! my dear, that is a different matter.

That is the real tragedy of a woman's life.' In flooding reminiscent thought she forgot her remonstrating; her voice became full of natural pathos: 'To love; and be helpless! To wait, and wait, and wait; with your heart all aflame! To hope, and hope; till time seems to have passed away, and all the world to stand still on your hopeless misery! To know that a word might open up Heaven; and yet to have to remain mute! To keep back the glances that could enlighten; to modulate the tones that might betray! To see all you hoped for passing away.