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Mildred knew already what was impending in the romance of Emmy Lou. So perhaps did Aunt Sharley. Her rheumatism had not affected her eyesight and she had all her faculties. All the same, it was to Aunt Sharley that Emmy Lou went next morning to tell of the choice she had made. There was no one whose consent had actually to be obtained. Both the girls were of age; as their own master they enjoyed the use and control of their cosy little inheritance. Except for an aunt who lived in New Orleans and some cousins scattered over the West, they were without kindred. The Dabneys had been an old family, but not a large one. Nevertheless, in obedience to a feeling that told her Aunt Sharley should be the first, next only to her sister, to share with her the happiness that had come into her life, Emmy Lou sought out the old woman before breakfast time.

Seemingly Aunt Sharley approved. For if at the moment she mumbled out a complaint about chillens too young to know their own minds being prone to fly off with the first young w’ite gen’l’man that came along frum nobody knowed whar, still there was nothing begrudged or forced about the vocal jubilations with which she made the house ring during the succeeding week. At prayer meeting on Wednesday night at Zion Coloured Baptist Church and at lodge meeting on Friday night she bore herself with an air of triumphant haughtiness which sorely irked her fellow members. It was agreed privily that Sis’ Charlotte Helm got mo’ and mo’ bigotty, and not alone that, but mo’ and mo’ uppety, ever’ day she lived.

If young Mr. Winslow had been, indirectly, the cause for her prideful deportment before her own colour, it was likewise Mr. Winslow who shortly was to be the instrument for humbling her into the dust. Now this same Mr. Winslow, it should be stated, was a masterful young man. Only an abiding sense of humour kept him sometimes from being domineering. Along with divers other qualities it had taken masterfulness for him at twenty-nine to be superintendent of our street-railway system, now owned and operated by Northern capitalists. Likewise it had taken masterfulness for him to distance the field of Emmy Lou’s local admirers within the space of five short months after he procured his transfer to our town from another town where his company likewise had traction interests. He showed the same trait in the stand he presently took with regard to the future status of Aunt Sharley in the household of which he was to become a member and of which he meant to be the head.

For moral support–which she very seriously felt she needed–Emmy Lou took her sister with her on the afternoon when she invaded the kitchen to break the news to Aunt Sharley. The girls came upon the old woman in one of her busiest moments. She was elbows deep in a white mass which in due time would become a batch of the hot biscuits of perfection. “Auntie,” began Emmy Lou in a voice which she tried to make matter-of-fact, “we’ve–I’ve something I want to say to you.”

“Ise lissenin’, chile,” stated the old woman shortly.

“It’s this way, Auntie: We think–I mean we’re afraid that you’re getting along so in life–getting so old that we—-“

“Who say Ise gittin’ ole?” demanded Aunt Sharley, and she jerked her hands out of the dough she was kneading.

“We both think so–I mean we all think so,” corrected Emmy Lou.

“Who do you mean by we all? Does you mean dat young Mistah Winslow, Esquire, late of de North?” Her blazing eyes darted from the face of one sister to the face of the other, reading their looks. “Uh-huh!” she snorted. “I mout ‘a’ knowed he’d be de ver’ one to come puttin’ sech notions ez dem in you chillens’ haids. Well, ma’am, an’ whut, pray, do he want?” Her words fairly dripped with sarcasm.