"Cecil is right, Master Frank," laughed his mother; "Cam and Isis are not the only streams of learning in the world." "I never heard of him," said Jenny; "he is a mere satellite to the great luminary." "They are worth seeing," added Frank; "she is one of those regular American beauties one would pay to get a sight of." "Where did you get all this information?" asked Cecil. "From Duncombe himself. They met on the Righi; and nothing is more comical than to near him describe the ladies' fraternization over female doctors and lawyers, till they rushed into each other's arms, and the Clio promised to come down on a crusade and convert you all." "There are two ways of telling a story," said Cecil. "No wonder the gentlemen quake!" said Mrs. Poynsett. "I don't," said Frank, boyishly. "Because you've no wife to take you in hand," retorted Jenny. "For my part," said Mrs. Poynsett, "I can't see what women want. I have always had as many rights as I could exercise." "Ah! but we are not all ladies of the manor," said Jenny, "nor do we all drive coaches." "I observe," said Cecil, with dignity, "that there is supposed to be a license to laugh at Mrs. Duncombe and whatever she does." "She would do better to mind her children," said Frank. "Children! Has she children?" broke in Anne and Rosamond, both at once. "Didn't you know it?" said Jenny. "No, indeed! I didn't think her the sort of woman," said Rosamond. "What does she do with them?" "Drops them in the gutter," said Frank. "Literally, as I came home, I heard a squeak, and found a child flat in a little watercourse. I picked it out, and the elder one told me it was Ducky Duncombe, or some such word. Its little boots had holes in them, mother; its legs were purple, and there was a fine smart foreign woman flirting round the corner with young Hornblower." "Boys with long red hair, and Highland dresses?" exclaimed Rosamond. "Yes, the same we saw with Miss Vivian!" "Exactly!" said Frank, eagerly. "She is quite a mother to those poor little wretches; they watch for her at the Sirenwood gate, and she walks with them. The boy's cry was not for mother or nurse, but for Lena!" "Pray, did she come at his call?" "No; but when I carried the brat home, poor Duncombe told me almost with tears, how good she is to them. I fancy he feels their mother's neglect of them." "I'm sure I gave her credit for having none," said Rosamond. "Ah!" said Jenny, "you should have heard her condolences with my sister Mary on her last infliction. Fancy Mary's face!" "No doubt it was to stem a torrent of nursery discussions," said Cecil. "Such bad taste!" "Which?" murmured Rosamond under her breath, with an arched eyebrow. "Plain enough," said Frank: "if a woman is a woman, the bad taste is to be ashamed of it." "Yes," said Cecil, "that is the way with men; they would fain keep us down to the level of the nursery." "I thought nurseries were usually at the top of the house."