"Letty with her vulgar tongue is not likely to improve her husband's manners," said Miss Watling. "I am sure he is a gentleman to her. And how can you, my dear old friend"--this was said with a gentle pressure of the arm, and a look of great sympathy--"bear with the noise and worry of _those_ children? The racket they make would drive me mad." Mrs. Barford shook herself free of the obtrusive hand and bridled up. She did not approve of the very strong accent given to the word _those_. It was an insult, and implied contempt of her son's family. A woman may listen complacently enough to remarks made against her daughter-in-law, but say a word against that daughter-in-law's children, and she is in arms at once. Those children are her son's children, and to disparage them, is to throw contempt on her. Mrs. Barford thought very little of Letty, but all the world of the little Letties, and she was very angry with Miss Watling for her ill-natured remark. "The children are fine, healthy, clever children, of whom _some_ people might be proud, if such belonged to them," she said, drawing her chair back from the table, and as far from her hostess as possible. "But as that is never likely to be the case, the less said about them the better. The children are the joy of my heart, the comfort of my old age, and I hope to live long enough to see them grow up honest independent men." Here Mrs. Joe very opportunely opened the door, and master Sammy, restored to good humour, came racing up to his grandmother, his flaxen curls tossed in pretty confusion about his rosy face, his blue eyes full of frolic and glee. "Ganma, horsey tome. Let's dow home." The old lady pressed him against her breast, and kissed his sunburnt forehead, with maternal pride, thinking to herself, would not the spiteful old thing give her eyes to be the mother of such a bright boy? then aloud to him, "Yes, my dear boy, young folks like you, and old ones like me, are best at home." She rose from her chair, and her rising broke up the party. It was by no means a pleasant one. Everybody was disappointed. The giver of the feast most of all. Dorothy Chance, it would have made your cheeks, now so calm and pale, flush with indignant red; it would have roused all the worst passions in the heart, you are striving from day to day to school into obedience, had you been present at that female conference, and heard their estimate of your character and conduct. Few know all that others say of them, still less are they cognizant of their unkind thoughts. The young are so confident of themselves, have such faith in the good opinion which others profess to entertain for them, that they cannot imagine that deceit and malice, envy and hatred, lie concealed beneath the mask of smiling faces and flattering caresses.