She laid down the paper and thought--Bailey--Bailey--she seemed
to have a vague recollection of hearing about a young man named
Bailey who worked in a bank--but she could not remember where or
by whom his name had been mentioned.
Well--it didn't matter. She had other things to think about. She
must ring for Lizzie--get up and dress. The bright morning sun,
streaming in through the long window, made lying in bed an old
woman's luxury and she refused to be an old woman.
"Though the worst old woman I ever knew was a man!" she thought
with a satiric twinkle. She was glad Sally's daughter--young Dale
Ogden--was here in the house with her. The companionship of Dale's
bright youth would keep her from getting old-womanish if anything
could.
She smiled, thinking of Dale. Dale was a nice child--her favorite
niece. Sally didn't understand her, of course--but Sally wouldn't.
Sally read magazine articles on the younger generation and its wild
ways. "Sally doesn't remember when she was a younger generation
herself," thought Miss Cornelia. "But I do--and if we didn't have
automobiles, we had buggies--and youth doesn't change its ways just
because it has cut its hair. Before Mr. and Mrs. Ogden left for
Europe, Sally had talked to her sister Cornelia ... long and
weightily, on the problem of Dale." "Problem of Dale, indeed!"
thought Miss Cornelia scornfully. "Dale's the nicest thing I've
seen in some time. She'd be ten times happier if Sally wasn't
always trying to marry her off to some young snip with more of
what fools call 'eligibility' than brains! But there, Cornelia
Van Gorder--Sally's given you your innings by rampaging off to
Europe and leaving Dale with you all summer and you've a lot less
sense than I flatter myself you have, if you can't give your
favorite niece a happy vacation from all her immediate family--
and maybe find her someone who'll make her happy for good and all
in the bargain.
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