"Yes, and Miss Elizabeth—isn't that her name? The plainest—"
"And the nicest. And Augusta—she's the third. Paints wild flowers and plays the piano. She's about my age, I believe."
"Your age! Why, she must be over thirty!"
"No. She's nineteen, still. She's got an anchor out to windward—against the storm of time, you know. She swings a little with the tide, though."
"I don't understand," said Lawrence, to whom nautical language was incomprehensible.
"Never mind. I only mean that she does not want to grow old. It's always funny to see a person of nineteen who's really over thirty."
Lawrence laughed a little.
"You're fond of them all, aren't you?" he asked, presently.
"Of course! They're my relation—how could I help being fond of them?"
"Oh—yes," answered Lawrence, vaguely. "But they really are very nice—people."
"Why do you hesitate?"
"I don't know. I couldn't say 'very nice
