"Far from it! I would ever go so far as to urge that they are more than a help--that they amount to a necessity. I quite agree that children can--and ought to--learn much from their parents; but the relation of a parent is unique. Because children must submit to their parents, it doesn't follow that they must submit to all their elders." "Yes, it does, because it would be impossible for the parents not to be older than the children," replied Annabel triumphantly, "so that the one includes the other." I marvelled at the reasoning powers of the female mind, and held my peace. Feeling that her logic had utterly confounded me, Annabel condescended to be gracious. "Still, of course, it is pleasant for you to have Frank as a companion," she deigned to admit. "He takes the place of that nephew which I always regret you never had." "The remedy was in your own hands," I ventured to remark. "Reggie, don't be coarse! I think the relation of uncles and aunts is a very agreeable one, as it provides all the pleasure of being a parent with none of the responsibility: at least, none of the overpowering responsibilities. Now if you'd had children, they would have been a source of great interest and pleasure to me." "Who is being coarse now?" I demanded. "Certainly not I; and it isn't very nice-minded of you to suggest such a thing. To the pure all things are pure." I had never for a moment doubted Annabel's purity, so I humbly ceded the point. "I wonder if you would have been an equal source of interest and pleasure to them," I speculated. "Of course I should. I should have been a second mother to them," replied Annabel briskly, without, however, lifting the veil, which evidently, in her imagination, shrouded the fate of their first mother, and prevented the latter from fulfilling her appointed maternal duties. Annabel was in particularly good spirits just then. Easter Day had passed without developing in Arthur any symptoms of blatant ritualism: the forget-me-nots were flourishing with such vigour that the blue blush, which was just beginning to tint their surface, promised to spread over the whole bed, and the results of the spring-cleaning, which had been conducted during our absence abroad, appeared to be more than usually drastic and complete. Therefore my sister's cup of happiness was inclined to brim over. As for myself, I was impatient, I admit, for the coming of Miss Wildacre. As I was generally talking to Frank, and as Frank was generally talking about his sister, that sister necessarily was often in my thoughts, and I was extremely curious to see what manner of girl she would prove to be. "When is your sister coming?" I asked him one day. "I thought you had left school this last term, and were coming to settle down at Restham for the summer: you on your way to Oxford in October, and your sister more or less for what people call 'good.'"