Mrs. Lawton indignantly wondered if Sybil Van Camp had ever realized that a sort of deputy-maternity devolved upon a god-mother--a term that had taken Leslie Galt, who was sharing the family council, out of the room in search of a handkerchief in his overcoat pocket. At which Mrs. Lawton gloomily expressed a fear of his "becoming a fussy old man in time, because," said she, "Leslie had a handkerchief in his breast pocket that might easily have served his purpose. Now, Dorothy," she continued, "take a mother's advice, and check at once any symptom of faddishness that appears in him, or he'll have you in heelless shoes or on a milk diet, or something of that sort, before you know it. But really, dear, you shouldn't interrupt. [Leslie returned to his seat here.] The question at this moment is, what is to become of your unfortunate sister; for though she has cast in her lot with 'mere players,' and has rejected the comfort and sweet privacy of home life, it does not follow that she is prepared to pass the rest of her life upon the unsheltered, stony streets of the city. What is the matter with you, Leslie? You are not in need of another handkerchief, are you? As I was saying when someone interrupted me, I doubt if Sybil Van Camp ever had any idea of the duties of a god-mother." "Rattle," counted Sybil on her fingers, "silver mug, corals----" "Given long ago!" triumphed Dorothy. "Renouncing the devil for you," went on Sybil, "and seeing that you knew creed, prayers, commandments, and church catechism----" "Which she didn't do!" cried Mrs. Lawton; "for I have heard your father bribing you many a time to learn and repeat them to him. And now, if she had any appreciation of the duties devolving upon her, would she not open her home to her god-daughter, and shelter her for a brief period from the perils of the city?" "Upon my word, mamma," laughed Sybil, "if you keep on in that strain I'll drop down on all fours and beg for a bone. Anyone would think you were speaking of a homeless dog. God-mother Van Camp has done more for me than I can ever repay, and she has invited me to stay in her house during my engagement, but it is not to be thought of. Why, papa, dear, I am now quite turning the household topsy-turvey by the irregularity of my hours. Rehearsals may be short, or they may be long. The cook gets cross, and god-mamma gets anxious. Her daily life is regulated like a railroad schedule for precision and exactitude of time. Then, when acting once begins, the watching for my late return at night would be a cruel penance to god-mamma and ancient Margaret and the butler Murphy, who is the greatest old woman of the lot. No, I can't think of so desecrating that last retreat of all the Knickerbocker proprieties; but, in a boarding-house----"