the care of his devoted
and accomplished man--while she went forward to "get the fuss over".
Those sisters were the shadows upon his now sunny path, although he did
not say so; he wanted to get to Redford without having to kiss them and
talk to their offensive men-folk on the way. So Deb proposed to do what
she felt he wished, and paid no heed to the dutiful objections which he
could not make to sound genuine in her ears. She telegraphed
instructions to Bob Goldsworthy to engage rooms for her and to meet
her, signing the message "Aunt Deborah"--her only herald.

Bob was duly at Spencer Street--elegant in curled moustaches and a
frock-coat--become a swell young barrister since she had seen him last.
He was sure of the impression he would create upon his discriminating
aunt, and had no notion that her first flashing glance at him was
accompanied by a flashing thought of how her adopted son would too
surely be ranked by her more discriminating husband with the "bounders"
of his implacable disdain. On the platform--while explaining that he
knew it was not the proper thing to do in a public place--he embraced
the majestic figure in the splendid sable cloak. Deb said, "Bother the
proper thing!" and kissed him readily--charily, however, because
conscious of teeth that were not Pennycuick teeth, and perversely
objecting to the faultless costume. But, looking at the frock-coat, she
perceived mourning-band upon the sleeve. Another encircled his
glittering tall hat.

"Not--oh, Bob!--not your mother?" she gasped.

He shook his head, and asked a question about her luggage.

"Aunt Rose--your uncle--?"

"Oh, Aunt Deb--don't! She is my aunt, I know, but he--" Bob spread
deprecating hands. "They are both well, I believe. I think I heard that
the fiftieth baby arrived last week. Is that your maid in the brown--"

"Oh, but, Bob--tell me--they haven't lost any of those nice children, I
do trust!"

"I should hardly have been in mourning on their account. No--fat and
tough as little pigs, by the look of them. It is my father, Aunt Deb. I
thought you knew." "What!" She stopped on their way towards Rosalie and
the luggage van. "You don't say--"

"Yes--a couple of months ago. The mater wrote to you."

"I have been wandering from place to place--the letter never reached
me."

"Pneumonia, supervening upon influenza--that is what the doctors called
it; but it was really a complication of disorders, some of them of long
standing. Betwe