bedroom, where her
niece lay suckling her baby girl.

"We should not want her at once, of course," Aunt Fanny explained. "We
should not expect to be able to look after her properly--though I
believe there are now many infant foods very highly recommended even by
doctors."

Perhaps it was the pride of chemical ancestry that sustained Miss
Frances Horner through the indelicacy of the last announcement. But old
maids' flesh was weak, and the carmine suffusing her waxen cheeks drove
the eldest sister into an attempt to cover her confusion by adding that
she, for one, was glad in these days of neglected duties to see a mother
nursing her own child.

"We feel," she went on, "that the arrival of a little girl shows very
clearly that the Almighty intended us to adopt her. Had it--had she
proved to be a boy, we should have made no suggestions about her,
except, perhaps, that her name should be Frederick after our father, the
chemist."

"With possibly Philip as a second name," Miss Mary Horner put in.

"Philip?" her sisters asked.

And now Miss Mary blushed, whether on account of a breach of sisterly
etiquette, or whether for some guilty memory of a long-withered
affection, was never discovered by her elders or any one else, either.

"Philip?" her sisters repeated.

"It is a very respectable name," said Miss Mary apologetically, and for
the life of her could only recall Philip of Spain, whose admirable
qualities were not enough marked to justify her in breaking in upon Miss
Horner's continuation of the discussion.

"Feeling as we do," the latter said, "that a divine providence has given
a girl-child to the world on account of our earnest prayers, we think we
have a certain right to give our advice, to urge that you, my dear
Florence, should allow us the opportunity of regulating her education
and securing her future. We enjoy between us a comfortable little sum of
money, half of which we propose to set aside for the child. The rest
has already been promised to the Reverend Williams, to be applied as he
shall think fit."

"Like an ointment, I suppose," said Florrie.

"Like an ointment? Like what ointment?"

"You seem to think that money will cure everything--if it's applied. But
who's going to look after Jenny if you die? Because," she went on,
before they had time to answer, "Jenny isn't going to be applied to the
Reverend Williams. She isn't going to mope all day with Bibles as big as
tramcars on her knees. No, t