Unity, whose early-discovered gift of the needle was requisitioned for this household millinery, thought it all mighty fine. It had been impressed upon her that she was no longer a guest, as at Southcliff, but an inmate of the house, with a definite position. She had passed from the legal guardianship of the Sisters of Saint Martha to that of Mr. Risca. The house was her home, which she shared on equal terms with him and Miss Lindon. She was no longer to call them “Sir” and “Ma'am.” Miss Lindon took the child to her warm heart and became “Aunt Gladys.” She suggested the analogous title for her nephew; but he put his foot down firmly and declined to be called “Uncle John.” He said it was farcical, subversive of the tragic dignity of the situation. She yielded complacently without in the least understanding what he meant. “But you must have some name, dear,” she pleaded. “Suppose she found that the house was on fire: it might be burned to the ground before she could settle how to call you.” “Oh, let her call me Demosthenes,” he cried in desperation, taking up his pen,--he had been interrupted in the middle of an article,--“and also tell her, my dear aunt, that, fire or no fire, if she comes into this room while I 'm writing, I 'll make her drink the ink-pot.” It was eventually decided that to Unity he should be “guardian.” The sacrosanctity of his library was also theoretically established. Unity, accustomed to discipline, paid scrupulous observance to the taboo; but Miss Lindon could never understand it. She would tap very gently at John's door, sometimes three or four times before he heard. At his “Come in,” she would enter, manipulating the door-knob so as to make no noise, and would creep on tiptoe across the resplendent carpet. “Now, I'm not going to disturb you, dear. Please go on writing. I only want to say that I'm ordering some tooth-stuff for Unity, and I don't know whether to buy paste or powder.” “Give her what you use yourself, my dear aunt.” Then would follow a history of her dentist. Such a gentlemanly man; in great trouble, too; he had just lost his fourth wife. John glared at his copy. “Careless fellow!” he growled. Many of his witticisms were at second hand. “Indeed he's not. He's most careful, I assure you. I would recommend him to anybody.” And so forth and so forth, until John would rise and, taking her by her plump shoulders and luring her across the threshold, lock the door against her. “She will drive me into a mad-house,” he complained to Herold. “I want to murder her and hug her at the same instant.”