"
Raymond did not see, and he was indignant, besides, at the
coarseness of his companion's expressions. So he walked along and
said nothing.
"And, as I said before, it's now too late," said Quintan.
"Too late for what?" demanded Raymond, who was deeply interested.
"For her to take up with anybody else," said Quintan. "To marry,
you know. She sacrificed all her opportunities for us; and now, in
the inevitable course of things, we are kind of abandoning her
when she is old and faded and lonely."
"I consider your aunt one of the most beautiful women in the
world," protested Raymond.
"But you can't put back the clock, old fellow," said Quintan.
"What has the world to offer to an old maid of forty-two? There
she is in the empty nest, and not her own nest at that, with all
her little nestlings flying over the hills and far away, and the
genuine mother-bird varying the monotony by occasionally pecking
her eyes out."
Raymond did not know what to answer. He could not be so rude as to
make any reflection on Mrs. Quintan, though he was stirred with
resentment against her. This noble, angelic, saintly woman, who in
every gesture reminded him of dead queens and historic personages!
It went to his heart to think of her, bereft and lonely, in that
splendid house he had so lately quitted. He recognised, in the
unmistakable accord between him and her, the fellowship of a pair
who, in different ways and in different stations, had yet fought
and suffered and endured for what they judged their duty.
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