on her sister's curls.

"No," continues the wise young lady. "And besides, this pretty, quiet
life would not last. You would have to give up playing that part. Papa
is getting very old now; and he often talks about what may happen to
us. And you know, Gerty, that though it is very nice for sisters to say
they will never and never leave each other, it doesn't come off, does
it? There is only one thing I see for you--and that is to get married."

"Indeed!"

It is easy to fence with a child's prattle. She might have amused
herself by encouraging this chatterbox to go through the list of their
acquaintances, and pick out a goodly choice of suitors. She might have
encouraged her to give expression to her profound views of the chances
and troubles of life, and the safeguards that timid maidens may seek.
But she suddenly said, in a highly matter-of-fact manner:--

"What you say is quite true, Carry, and I've thought of it several
times. It is a very bad thing for an actress to be left without a father
or husband, or brother, as her ostensible guardian. People are always
glad to hear stories--and to make them--about actresses. You would be no
good at all, Carry--"

"Very well, then," the younger sister said, promptly, "you've got to get
married. And to a rich man, too; who will buy you a theatre, and let you
do what you like in it."

Miss Gertrude White, whatever she may have thought of this speech, was
bound to rebuke the shockingly mercenary ring in it.