GREAT-AUNT NANCY and Caroline Priest were wont¹ to colour their grey days with the remembered crimsons² of old, long-past delights and merry-makings, but they went further than this and talked over any number of old family histories before Emily with a total disregard of her youth. Loves, births, deaths, scandals, tragedies—anything that came into their old heads. Nor
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 did they spare details. Aunt Nancy revelled³ in details. She forgot nothing, and sins and weaknesses that death had covered and time shown mercy to were ruthlessly dragged out and dissected⁴ by this ghoulish old lady.
Emily was not quite certain whether she really liked it or not. It was fascinating—it fed some dramatic hunger in her—but it made her feel unhappy somehow, as if something very ugly were concealed⁵ in the darkness of the pit they opened before her innocent eyes. As Aunt Laura had said, her youth protected her to some extent, but it could not save her from a dreadful understanding of the pitiful story of Ilse’s mother on the afternoon when it seemed good to Aunt Nancy to resurrect that tale of anguish⁷ and shame.
Emily was curled up on the sofa in the back parlour, reading The Scottish Chiefs because it was a breathlessly hot July afternoon—too hot to haunt the bay shore. Emily was feeling very happy. The Wind Woman was ruffling⁸ over the big maple⁹ grove¹⁰ behind the Grange, turning the leaves until every tree seemed to be covered with strange, pale, silvery blossoms; fragrances¹¹ drifted in from the garden; the world was lovely; she had had a letter from Aunt Laura saying that one of

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