‘The truth is,’ proceeded Mr. Hawkesworth, ‘that this young gentleman has, as perhaps you know, a grandpapa, a grandmamma, and also six or seven aunts. With his grandmamma he cannot be left, for sundry reasons, unnecessary to mention. Now, one of his aunts is a staid matronly lady, and his godmother besides, and in all respects the person to take charge of him,—only she lives in a small house in a town, and has plenty of babies of her own, without being troubled with other people’s. Master Henry’s other five aunts live in one great house, in a delightful country, with nothing to do but make much of him all day long, yet it is averred that these said aunts are a parcel of giddy young colts, amongst whom, if Henry escapes being demolished as a baby he will infallibly be spoilt as he grows up. Now, how are we to decide?’ ‘You have heard the true state of the case, Lily,’ said Mrs. Hawkesworth. ‘I did not wish to harass papa by speaking to him till something was settled; you are certainly old enough to have an opinion.’ ‘Yes, Lily,’ said Frank; ‘do you think that the hospitable New Court will open to receive our poor deserted child, and that these said aunts are not wild colts but discreet damsels?’ Playful as Mr. Hawkesworth’s manner was, Lily saw the earnestness that was veiled under it: she felt the solemnity of Eleanor’s appeal, and knew that this was no time to let herself be swayed by her wishes. There was a silence. At last, after a great struggle, Lily’s better judgment gained the mastery, and raising her head, she said, ‘Oh! Frank, do not ask me—I wish—but, Eleanor, when you see how much harm we have done, how utterly we have failed—’ Lily’s newly-acquired habits of self-command enabled her to subdue a violent fit of sobbing, which she felt impending, but her tears flowed quietly down her cheeks. ‘Remember,’ said Frank, ‘those who mistrust themselves are the most trustworthy.’ ‘No, Frank, it is not only the feeling of the greatness of the charge, it is the knowledge that we are not fit for it—that our own faults have forfeited such happiness.’ Again Lily was choked with tears. ‘Well,’ said Frank, ‘we shall judge at Beechcroft. At all events, one of those aunts is to be respected.’ Eleanor added her ‘Very right.’ This kindness on the part of her brother-in-law, which Lily felt to be undeserved, caused her tears to flow faster, and Eleanor, seeing her quite overcome, led her out of the room, helped her to undress, and put her to bed, with tenderness such as Lily had never experienced from her, excepting in illness.