"Aunt Anne," said Isabel quickly, "does it ever strike you that it is very undignified and degrading to listen to the wretched tattlings of an ignorant, spiteful woman, who returns all Nurse Elisia's kindness to her by telling falsities and distorting simple matters that happened in the past?" "Isabel!" cried Aunt Anne, starting bolt upright in her chair, "you surprise me!" "Do I, Aunt?" "Yes, you do. You, assuming the tones and manners of your poor father, and speaking to me, the mistress of the house, like that!" "But you are not the mistress of the house, Aunt." "I beg your pardon, child. Your father has delegated all authority to me, and he renewed the charge only a few weeks back." "Then you ought to do your duty, Aunt," said Isabel. "Isabel, you do surprise me, you do indeed!" cried Aunt Anne, who looked quite aghast at what was, in her eyes, rank rebellion by a child against her authority. "Do I, Aunt? I am very sorry," replied Isabel quietly. "I was only thinking that if I were mistress here, I should consider it my duty to send Maria away at once." "And I do not," cried Aunt Anne. "My idea is that it would be my duty to discharge that dreadful nurse." "But poor Auntie cannot," thought Isabel, "and consequently she is not sole mistress of the house." "And now, as I have occasion to talk to you, Isabel," continued Aunt Anne, drawing herself up, and gazing very sternly at her niece, "I will not reprove you for your very flippant, disrespectful treatment of your poor father's sister." "Oh, Auntie dear," cried the affectionate girl, jumping up from her place to go behind the elder lady's chair, and place her arms about her neck. "Isabel, I beg you will not do that," said Aunt Anne. "It is not prompted by genuine affection." "Oh, yes, Auntie, it's quite true," said Isabel. "It cannot be, my dear; but, as I going to say, as I have found it necessary to reprove you, I must remind you that your conduct is not what it should be to your friends Saxa and Dana." "But, Aunt dear, they went off to Lucerne without a word to me, and you know that I never felt that they were great friends of mine, in spite of all. They always looked down upon me because I did not care for horses, and dogs, and grooms." "I am not going to say any more about those two poor girls who have been expatriated by your brothers' base conduct." "Auntie! It was not base if the boys did not love them." "They did love them, and they do love them, my dear," said Aunt Anne sternly. "All this is but a passing cloud, spread by that wicked woman, which blinds them. But it was not about that I wished to speak to you." "What, then, Auntie?" said Isabel, looking at her suspiciously, and thinking of a visit she had paid a few days before to a certain invalid vicar who had lain back in his chair to proudly read aloud portions of a letter he had received by the last mail.