Then I went on to tell him how I thought it was the prettiest one I ever saw, and 'way ahead of even Mr.Easterbrook's.
"And, pray, who is Mr.Easterbrook ?" asked Father then.

"The violinist, perhaps--eh ?" Now, wasn't it funny he should have remembered that there was a violinist?
But, of course, I told him no, it wasn't the violinist.

It was another one that took Mother to ride, the one I told him about in the Christmas letter; and he was very rich, and had two perfectly beautiful cars; and I was going on to tell more--how he didn't take Mother now--but I didn't get a chance, for Father interrupted, and said, "Yes, yes, to be sure." And he _showed_ he wasn't interested, for all the little smile wrinkles were gone, and he looked stern and dignified, more like he used to.

And he went on to say that, as we had almost reached home, he had better explain right away that Aunt Jane was no longer living there; that his cousin from the West, Mrs.
Whitney, was keeping house for him now.

She was a very nice lady, and he hoped I would like her.