"Poor Aunt Abrahama!" said she.
"She lived in this house all her life and was never married, and she must have come to think that all her pretty things had not amounted to much." "I don't see why," said Sylvia.

"I don't see that it was any great hardship to live all her life in this nice house, and I don't see what difference it made about her having nice things, whether she got married or not.

It could not have made any difference." "Why not ?" asked Rose, looking at her with a mischievous flash of blue eyes.

A long green gleam like a note of music shot out from the emerald on her finger as she raised it in a slight gesture.

"To have all these beautiful things put away in a drawer, and never to have anybody see her in them, must have made some difference." "It wouldn't make a mite," said Sylvia, stoutly.
"I don't see why." "Because it wouldn't." Rose laughed, and looked again at herself in the glass.
"Now you had better take off those things and go to bed, and try to go to sleep," said Sylvia.
"Yes, Aunt Sylvia," said Rose.