"Sell the Old Ancient House!" interrupted the younger Aspasia, hotly. The aggravation her uncle had ever the talent of awakening in her was now in full force. "I think you’ll find there will have to be two words to that, dear Runkle. Aunt Rosamond’s devoted to it." Sir Arthur inflated his chest. "My dear Raspasia!" ... There was concentrated acrimony in his accents. The elder lady scented storm, and storm was not the atmosphere she liked. "I declare, Arty," she said, "you made me jump. I thought those stern tones were directed to me. There are two Aspasias here—Docteur Châtelard—elle est ma—namesake—appellée après moi, ou comment vous dites! Come here, namesake, and let’s have a look at you." Aspasia fell on her knees beside the imposing tailor-made figure, and raised her pretty, pert face—pinker than usual, with a variety of emotions—for inspection. M. Châtelard put up his eyeglass to look down benevolently upon her. The English Miss had yet scarcely come under his microscope; but he quite saw that she would be a fascinating study. He now thought the contrast between the two Aspasias somewhat cruel. "Fraîche comme une rose, la petite. Ronde comme une caille, mutine comine la fauvette—Mais l’autre—oh lala, quelle carcasse!" The fine lines of Lady Aspasia’s anatomy—not inharmonious, but over-prominent, it must be owned, from the hardening effects of a too great devotion to sport—appealed not at all to the temperament of the French critic. "I don’t know what _you_ think of your godparents," Miss Aspasia was remarking, with the gusto of a well-established grievance, "but I know what I think ought to be done to mine for giving me such an i-di-o-tic name." She rolled her eyes meaningly towards Sir Arthur. Lady Aspasia pinched the tilted chin not unkindly, while her loud laugh rang out. "And you won’t ever be able to change it, either, that’s the worst of it," she cried. "Thank your stars, anyhow, it can’t brand you all your life, as it does me, like an ugly handle to a fine jug—aha! By the way, Arty, you’ll have to do something to help this poor child to change the Cuningham, anyhow. She won’t do it down here." "I don’t want to change that at all," cried Baby. Her quick ear had caught the sound of Bethune’s tread on the threshold. She jerked her chin from Lady Aspasia’s fingers and jumped to her feet. "I’ve never seen any one whose name I thought better worth having than Cuningham yet." In her young pride she unconsciously flung an angry glance upon the newcomer for appearing at just the wrong moment—a glance which Lady Aspasia caught, and from which she immediately drew conclusions. These conclusions tallied to a nicety with some others that Lady Aspasia, not without a certain satisfaction, had been forming of late regarding the Gerardine _ménage_.