“Mr. Beebe — old Mr. Emerson, is he nice or not nice? I do so want to know.”

Mr. Beebe laughed and suggested that she should settle the question for herself.

“No; but it is so difficult. Sometimes he is so silly, and then I do not mind him. Miss Alan, what do you think? Is he nice?”

The little old lady shook her head, and sighed disapprovingly. Mr. Beebe, whom the conversation amused, stirred her up by saying:

“I consider that you are bound to class him as nice, Miss Alan, after that business of the violets.”

“Violets? Oh, dear! Who told you about the violets? How do things get round? A pension is a bad place for gossips.