literary conversation. It saves time, when it comes in that way. Mr. Caliph has ever so much."
"He keeps it for you. With us he is very frivolous," I ventured to observe.
"Well, what you call frivolous! I believe you think the prayer-book frivolous."
"Mr. Caliph will never marry any one," Eunice said, after a moment. "That I am very sure of."
Mrs. Ermine stared; there never is so little expression in her face as when she is surprised. But she soon recovered herself. "Don't you believe that! He will take some quiet little woman, after you have all given him up."
Eunice was sitting at the piano, but had wheeled round on the stool when her cousin came in. She turned back to it and struck a few vague chords, as if she were feeling for something. "Please don't speak that way; I don't like it," she said, as she went on playing.
"I will speak any way you like!" Mrs. Ermine cried, with her vacant laugh.
"I think it very low." For Eunice this was severe. "Girls are not always thinking about marriage. They are not always thinking of people like Mr. Caliph—that way."
"They must have changed then, since my time! Was n't it so in yours, Miss Condit?" She 's so stupid that I don't think she meant to make a point.
"I had no 'time,' Mrs. Ermine. I was born an old maid."
