"Father also drank. Mother thinks that the pajamas had something to do with it. She also thinks that book reading was a contributary cause." "What terrible jaw-breaking words you use, Christina. Father did read a lot, didn't he?" "Father was a student. He studied, amongst other things, race horses. Do you know who father was?" Evie stared at her expectantly. "He was a carpenter, wasn't he?" "He was the youngest son of the youngest son of a lord. Take that look off your face, Evie; there is no possibility of our being the rightful heiresses of the old Hall. But it is true; he had a coat of arms." "Then why did he marry mother?" "Why do people marry anybody?" demanded Christina. "Why did grandfather marry grandmother? Besides, why shouldn't he have married mother? He was only a cabinet maker when he met her. She has told me so. And his father was a parson, and his mother the Honorable Mrs. Colebrook, the daughter of Lord Fanshelm. There is blue blood in your veins, Evie." "But really, Christina," Evie's voice was eager and her eyes bright, "you are not fooling; is it true? It makes such an awful difference--" Christina groaned. "My God, what have I said?" she asked dramatically. "But really, Christina?" "You are related so distantly to nobility that you can hardly see it without a telescope," said Christina, "I thought you knew. Mother used always to be talking about it at one time. My dear, what difference does it make?" Evie was silent. "A man doesn't love a girl any more because she has a fifth cousin in the House of Lords; he doesn't love her any less because her mother takes in laundry, and if her lowly origin stands in the way of his marriage, and he finds that really she is the great grandaughter of a princess, he cannot obliterate her intermediate relations." "What's 'intermediate'?" "Well, mother and father, and the parson who got into trouble through drinking, and his wife who ran away with a groom." Evie drew a long sigh. "Where is your swain?" she asked. "I don't like that word 'swain,' it sounds so much like 'swine'." "I hope you will never see the resemblance any clearer," said Christina. "My swain is working, too. I shouldn't take off that petticoat, if I were you, Evie; he may come in and you can see your knickers through that dressing-gown." "Christina!" "I hate mentioning knickers to a pure-minded girl," said Christina, fanning herself with a paper, "but sisters have no secrets from one another. Ambrose, if that is who you mean, is very busy these days." "Do you call him Ambrose to his face?" asked Evie curiously, and her sister snorted. "Would you call Julius Cæsar 'Bill' or 'Juley' to his face; of course not. But I can't think of him as Ambrose Sault, Esquire, can I?" "I don't understand him," said Evie. "He seems so dull and quiet." "I'll get him to jazz with you the next time you're home early," said Christina sardonically.