"By the way," Maud went on, "I don't suppose you have much idea at present what our family consists of, have you?" "No, I have not," said Margaret, feeling that she was quite safe in making that admission, for Eleanor had not known either. "Well, there's mother, of course, to start with, and then, of the ones who are at home, there's Geoffrey; he's a year older than me, and he's at Sandhurst. Like me, he's fearfully keen on games, and like me too, he's pretty good," added Maud, who, as Margaret had discovered by that time, was not lacking in a good opinion of herself. "Then I come, then Hilary--she's a year younger than me. Then come Jack and Noel--they're fifteen and sixteen respectively, and one's at Osborne and one's at Dartmouth; all they seem to care about at present is sailing and fishing, and so we don't see much of them. Then there's Edward, he's about fourteen, I think; he's mad keen on cricket--besides, he's got all the brains of the family. Then two cousins of ours, Nancy and Joan Green, are staying with us. They're not half bad girls, and Nancy would play quite a decent game of tennis if she wasn't so lazy. She can hit jolly hard, but she won't run, and she will talk, so I won't play with her. Then there are the kids--your little lot, you know--and I wish you joy of them; they're a jolly handful, and no mistake." Margaret, who had been listening eagerly to this account of the family in the midst of which she was to live for the next few weeks, puckered her forehead over the last sentences. "The--the kids," she queried in a puzzled tone. "Yes, the infants; my eldest sister Joanna's children. You are going to take them over and teach them, aren't you? At least, that is what I believe mother gave me to understand." "Oh yes, of course," Margaret said, so quickly that Maud had no suspicion that she had never in all her life before heard children called kids. "Yes, mother hopes great things from you," Maud chattered on. "She says as you have been in a school you will understand discipline and all that. But I believe Joanna won't have her darlings smacked, and they are such troublesome little monkeys that a sound smacking would do them all the good in the world," wound up their young aunt with a vigour that showed the subject was one on which she felt strongly. "Not that you," with a careless glance at Margaret's pale, thoughtful face, "look strong enough to give them much of a whacking."