"Whatever," assented Miss Isabella. "As I have often told you, children, it was during the corrupting times of the Commonwealth that the lineal descendants of Sir Guy Dymcoques-- the _s_ not sounded, my dears--allowed the family name to be altered into Dymcox, which by letters patent was made imperative, and the proper patronymic has never been restored to its primitive orthography. It is a blot on our family history to which I will no more allude." Miss Isabella allowed the fan to fall into her lap, and accentuated the hollowness of her thin cheek by pressing it in with one pointed finger. "To resume," said Miss Philippa, while her nieces watched her with wondering eyes: "our dear sister Delia, your poor mamma, repented bitterly for her weakness in marrying a poor man--your papa, children-- and being taken away to a dreary place in Central France, where your papa had the management of a very leaden silver-mine, which only produced poverty. The sufferings to which Mr Julian Riversley exposed your poor mamma were dreadful, my dears. And," continued Miss Philippa, dotting each eye with her handkerchief, which was not moistened, "your poor mamma died. She was killed, I might say, by the treatment of your papa; but `De mortuis,' Isabella?" "`Nil nisi bonum,'" sighed the Honourable Isabella. "Exactly, sister," continued the Honourable Philippa--"died like several of your unfortunate baby brothers and sisters, my dears; and shortly after--four years exactly, was it not, Isabella?" "Three years and eleven months, sister." "Thank you, Isabella. Mr Julian Riversley either fell down that lead-mine or threw himself there in remorse for having deluded a female scion of the ancient house of Dymcoques to follow his fortunes into a far-off land. He was much like you in physique, my dears, but I am glad to say not in disposition--thanks to our training and that of your mamma's spiritual instructor, Mr Paul Montaigne, to whom dearest Delia entrusted you, and to whom your repentant--I hope--papa gave the sacred charge of bringing you to England to share the calmness of our peaceful home." "Peaceful home," assented Miss Isabella. "I need hardly tell you, children, that the Riversleys were, or are, nobodies of whom we know nothing--never can know anything." "Whatever," assented Miss Isabella. "To us they do not exist--neither will they for you, my dears. We believe that Mr Julian had a sister who married a Mr Huish; that is all we know." "All we know," assented Miss Isabella. "I will say nothing of the tax it has been upon us in connection with our limited income. A grateful country, recognising the services of papa, placed these apartments at our disposal. In consideration of the thoughtfulness of the offer, we accepted these apartments--thirty-five years ago, I think, Isabella?" "Thirty-five years and a half, sister."