“You know, Mrs. Williams isn’t very strong just now. She’s been unlucky before, too--twice, I fancy.” “But when? Surely you aren’t going to have anything like that _here_?” “Oh dear, no! I told her it was out of the question, and she quite understood. It isn’t till April, and they hope to move into their new house after Christmas. _She_ must be about fifteen years younger than _he_ is, I imagine.” “How strange!” said Aunt Gertie. Both she and Aunt Ada were always intensely interested in any detail about anybody, whether known or unknown to them personally. “Rather remarkable, isn’t it, that there should be an event on the way----” Aunt Ada began. Mrs. Palmer frowned heavily at her as Elsie came back into the room. “It’s ever so long since we’ve seen you, as I was just saying,” she remarked in a loud and artificial voice, making Elsie wish that she had waited outside the door and listened. She thought that they must have been talking about her. After tea was over, they did talk about her. Mrs. Palmer began: “You can let Geraldine take the tea-things, Elsie. It won’t be the first time, lately, she’s done your share of helping your poor mother as well as her own.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” from Aunt Gertie. “Geraldine’s health isn’t as strong as yours, either. She looks to me as though she might go into consumption, if you want to know,” said Aunt Ada. They looked at Elsie, and she looked sulkily back at them. It was one of the days on which she was at her plainest. Her face looked fat and heavy, the high cheek-bones actually seemed to be pushing her lower lids upwards until her eyes appeared as mere slits. Her mouth was closed sullenly. “Elsie’s not been a good gurl lately, and she knows it very well. Her own mother doesn’t seem to have any influence with her, so perhaps ...” said Mrs. Palmer to her sisters, but looking at her child, “perhaps you’ll see what you can do. It’s not a thing I like to talk about, ever, but we know very well what happens to a gurl who spends her time larking about the streets with fellows. To think that a child of mine----” “What do you do it _for_, Elsie?” enquired Aunt Gertie, in a practical tone, as though only such shrewdness as hers could have seized at once upon this vital point. “Do what?” “What your poor mother says.” “She hasn’t said anything, yet.” “Don’t prevaricate with me, you bad gurl, you,” said Mrs. Palmer sharply. “You know very well what I mean, and so do others. The tales that get carried to me about your goings-on! First one fellow, and then another, and even running after a whipper-snapper that’s already going with another gurl!” “This is a bit of Ireen’s work, I suppose,” said Elsie. “I can’t help it if her boy’s sick of her already, can I? I’m sure I don’t care anything about Arthur Osborne, or any of them, for that matter.” The implication that Elsie Palmer, at sixteen and a half, could afford to distinguish between her admirers, obscurely infuriated the spinster Aunt Ada.