One bright morning towards the end of January, Gertrude came careering up the street on the summit of a tall, green omnibus, her hair blowing gaily in the breeze, her ill-gloved hands clasped about a bulky note-book. Frank, passing by in painting-coat and sombrero, plucked the latter from his head and waved it in exaggerated salute, an action which evoked a responsive smile from the person for whom it was intended, but acted with quite a different effect on another person who chanced to witness it, and for whom it was certainly not intended. This was no other than Aunt Caroline Pratt, who, to Gertrude's dismay, came dashing past in an open carriage, a look of speechless horror on her handsome, horselike countenance. Now it is impossible to be dignified on the top of an omnibus, and Gertrude received her aunt's frozen stare of non-recognition with a humiliating consciousness of the disadvantages of her own position. With a sinking heart she crept down from her elevation, when the omnibus stopped at the corner, and walked in a crestfallen manner to Number 20B, before the door of which the carriage, emptied of its freight, was standing. Aunt Caroline did not trouble them much in these days, and rather wondering what had brought her, Gertrude made her way to the sitting-room, where the visitor was already established. "How do you do, Aunt Caroline?" "How do you do, Gertrude? And where have you been this morning?" "To the British Museum." Gertrude felt all the old opposition rising within her, in the jarring presence; an opposition which she assured herself was unreasonable. What did it matter what Aunt Caroline said, at this time of day? It had been different when they had been little girls; different, too, in that first moment of sorrow and anxiety, when she had laid her coarse touch on their quivering sensibilities. Yet, when all was said, Mrs. Pratt's was not a presence to be in any way passed over. "It is half-past one," said Aunt Caroline, consulting her watch; "are you not going to have your luncheon?" "It is laid in the kitchen," explained Lucy; "but if you will stay we can have it in here." "In the kitchen! Is it necessary to give up the habits of ladies because you are poor?" "A kitchen without a cook," put in Phyllis, "is the most ladylike place in the world." Mrs. Pratt vouchsafed no answer to this exclamation, but turned to Lucy. "No luncheon, thank you. I may as well say at once that I have come here with a purpose; solely, in fact, from motives of duty. Gertrude, perhaps your conscience can tell you what brings me." "Indeed, Aunt Caroline, I am at a loss----" "I have come," continued Mrs. Pratt, "prepared to put up with anything you may say. Gertrude, it is to you I address myself, although, from Fanny's age, she is the one to have prevented this scandal." "I do not in the least understand you," said Gertrude, with self-restraint. Mrs. Pratt elevated her gloved forefinger, with the air of a well-seasoned counsel.