"That is what I am trying to do, but you _will_ interrupt. Naturally, your home is with us, your mother's sisters. You shall have the blue room over the porch. If you wish it, we are willing that you should bring your own pictures. The silver and valuables you can send to the bank, and the furniture can be sold. You shall pay us five guineas a week, and we will keep your horse, and house old Bridget if you don't want to part from her. She can attend to your room, and sleep in the third attic. There would be no extras except washing, and a fire in your room. You know how we live; every comfort, but no excess. I disapprove of excess. Eliza and I have often regretted that you and Kathie have such extravagant ways. Early tea, as if you were old women, and bare shoulders for dinner. You may laugh, my dear, but it's no laughing matter. One thing leads to another. You can't wear an evening dress and sit down to a chop. Soup and fish and an _entree_ before you know where you are. We have high tea. You would save money on evening gowns alone. A dressy blouse is all that is required." Aunt Emmeline paused to draw breath, twitched, jerked, and resolutely braced herself to say a difficult thing. "And--and we shall welcome you, my dear! We shall be p-pleased to have you!" Through all her protestation of welcome, through all her effort at warmth, the plain, unflattering truth forced its way out. To entertain a young independent niece beneath their roof might seem to the two aunts a duty, but, most certainly, most obviously, it would _not_ be a pleasure! I was quite convinced that for myself it would be a fiery trial to accept the offer; but it was a shock to realise that the aunts felt the same!