"
"How wintry that old gentleman looks who is just entering!" Stanton
remarked. "It makes one shiver to think of becoming as frosty and
white as he."
"Oh, don't speak of being old!" cried Mrs. Mayhew. "Remember
there are some at the table who are in greater danger of that final
misfortune than you young people."
"Do you dread being old, Miss Burton?" Van Berg asked.
"No; but I do the process of growing old."
"For once we think alike, Miss Burton," said Ida abruptly. "To
think of plodding on through indefinite dreary years toward the
miserable conclusion of old age! and yet it is said nothing is so
sweet as life."
"Really, Cousin, your advance down the ages reminds one more of a
quickstep than of 'plodding,'" remarked Stanton.
"The step matters little," she retorted, "as long as you feel as
if you were going to your own funeral. I agree with Miss Burton,
that growing old is worse than being old, thought Heaven knows that
both are bad enough."
"I'm not sure that Heaven would agree with either of us," said Miss
Burton, gently.
"I fear the sermon did not do you much good, Coz," said Stanton,
maliciously.
"No; it did not. It did me harm, if such a thing were possible,"
was the reckless reply.
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