"Very true," murmured Miss Munnion. She did not mean anything by these words, but they were so habitual that she could not help using them. "Then you'd better come straight to my godmother and tell her," said Iris, "if you _mean_ to go." "Oh, of course I mean to go," said Miss Munnion reproachfully. "How could I forsake Diana when she wants me?" "Well, then, there's no use in thinking of anything else," said Iris. It was an evident relief to Miss Munnion to be taken in hand firmly even by a child. Years of dependence on the whims and fancies of others had deprived her of what little decision and power of judgment she had possessed. She could hardly call her mind her own, so how could she make it up on any point? Yet all through her troubled and dreary life one feeling had remained alive and warm--affection for her sister Diana. "Many waters cannot quench love," and its flame still burned bright and clear in Miss Munnion's heart. "Although she really is very silly," thought Iris, as they turned back together towards the house, "there's something I like about her after all. She's much nicer than my godmother." She hurried Miss Munnion along as fast as she could, almost as though it were Susie or Dottie she had in charge; and indeed the poor lady was so nervous at the prospect of Mrs Fotheringham that she was as helpless as a child. She stumbled along, falling over her gown at every step, dropping her letters, or her spectacles, or her pocket handkerchief, and uttering broken sentences about her sister Diana. Iris picked up these things again and again, and at last carried them herself, and so brought Miss Munnion triumphantly, but in a breathless condition, to the door of the house. "Now," she said, "you'd better take the letters in to my godmother and tell her all about it at once. I'll wait here till you come back." She had not to wait long, for Miss Munnion reappeared in less than five minutes shaking her head mournfully. "It's just as I thought it would be," she said. "Mrs Fotheringham thinks it's very unreasonable of me to want to go to Diana." "Did you tell her she was ill?" asked Iris. "Yes, and she said she supposed there were doctors in Sunderland who would do her more good than I should. She doesn't seem to be able to understand why I should want to go. She says it's fussy." "Did you tell her that I would read to her while you are gone?" asked Iris. "No, my dear, I couldn't get that in; she's so very impetuous. And besides, the first thing she said was:-- "`Of course you'll understand, Miss Munnion, that if you feel obliged to go to Sunderland our connection is at an end.' So I shall lose the situation after all," ended Miss Munnion with a sigh. Iris stood in silent thought for a moment. "Did she look _very_ angry?" she said at length. "Well, yes," said Miss Munnion. "I must say she seemed completely upset. I think she was vexed to start with, because, you know, she didn't get her nap."