pursued my aunt, ‘as good, as beautiful, as earnest, as disinterested, as she has always been. If I knew higher praise, Trot, I would bestow it on her.’

There was no higher praise for her; no higher reproach for me.

Oh, how had I strayed so far away!

‘If she trains the young girls whom she has about her, to be like herself,’ said my aunt, earnest even to the filling of her eyes with tears, ‘Heaven knows, her life will be well employed! Useful and happy, as she said that day! How could she be otherwise than useful and happy!’

‘Has Agnes any — ’ I was thinking aloud, rather than speaking.

‘Well? Hey? Any what?’ said my aunt, sharply.