‘You cunning child!’ laughed Constance, rather amused at the sophistry. ‘Besides,’ argued Dolores, ‘what right has she to interfere between my uncle and my friends and me? ‘You dear! Yes, it is all jealousy!’ ‘I have heard--or I have read,’ said Dolores, ‘that when people ask questions they have no right to put, it is quite fair to give them a denial, or at least to go as near the wind as one can.’ ‘To be sure,’ assented Constance, ‘or one would not get on at all! But you have no told me a word about your letters.’ ‘Father’s letter? Oh, he tells me a great deal about his voyage, and all the funny creatures they get up with the dredge. I think he will be sure to write a book about them, and make great discoveries. And now he is staying with Aunt Phyllis in New Zealand, and he is thinking, poor father, how well off I must be with Aunt Lilias. He little knows!’ ‘Oh, but you could write to him, dearest!’ ‘He wouldn’t get the letter for so long. Besides, I don’t think I could say anything he would care about. Gentlemen don’t, you know.’ ‘No! gentlemen can’t enter into our feelings, or know what it is to be rubbed against and never appreciated. But your uncle! Was the letter from him?’ ‘Oh yes! And where do you think he is? At Darminster--editing a paper there. It is called the Darminster Politician. He said he sent a copy here.’ “Oh yes, I know; Mary and I could not think where it came from. It had a piece of a story in it, and some poetry. I wonder if he would put in my ‘Evening Star.’” ‘You may read his letter if you like; you see he says he would run over to see me if it were not for the dragons.’ ‘I wish he could come and meet you here. It would be so romantic, but you see Mary is half a dragon herself, and would be afraid of Lady Merrifield’--then, reading the letter,--‘How droll! How clever! What a delightful man he must be! How very strange that all your family should be so prejudiced against him! I’ll tell you what, Dolores, I will write and subscribe for the Darminster Politician my own self--I must see the rest of that story--and then Mary can’t make any objection; I can’t stand never seeing anything but Church Bells, and then you can read it too, darling.’ ‘Oh, thank you, Connie. Then I shall have got him one subscriber, as he asks me to do. I am afraid I shan’t get any more, for I thought Aunt Lily was in a good humour yesterday, and I put one of the little advertisement papers he sent out on the table, and she found it, and only said something about wondering who had sent the advertisement of that paper that Mr. Leadbitter didn’t approve of. She is so dreadfully fussy and particular. She won’t let even Gillian read anything she hasn’t looked over, and she doesn’t like anything that isn’t goody goody.’ ‘My poor darling! But couldn’t you write and get your uncle to look at some of my poor little verses that have never seen the light?’