Within six months, the sharp-eyed Crump noticed that the Sisters were growing-to use her adjective-more 'pernicketty.' Prudence was now fifty, Jaqueline being two years younger. The circle of their likes' (to quote the handmaiden again) was diminishing, the universe held everything without it. A terror of the new and strange possessed them. They read aloud the old books, and exchanged the old platitudes. Dr. Pogany said to Mrs. Lovibond: Positively, I dare not prescribe a new drug,' a remark which moved the parson's wife to rare laughter, as she answered: For my part I dare not prescribe a new novel.' Each lady was not at home' upon the afternoon preceding the departure of the Indian mail. In their fine Italian handwriting they wrote upon two sheets of the thinnest notepaper a summary of the week's happenings in Charminster. These letters had the supreme quality of atmosphere. Rosetta reading them was transported instantly to the sleepy old town which never changed. She could hear the church bells, behold the sluggish Char, and smell the odours of Hog Lane. Her heart seemed to beat more slowly, as she accompanied the Sisters up the High Street, into Vicarage and church, and other familiar places. But it beat faster when she read:

I am rejoiced to tell you that Septimus Lovibond is in better health. His dear mother's prayers have been answered. He is now assistant editor of some newspaper, whose name has escaped my memory. Mrs. Lovibond assures me that he is earning a quite respectable salary, and contemplates writing a Book!'

Rosetta answered these carefully worded epistles with exemplary regularity, writing once a week to each sister alternately. Always the letters were read aloud, with running commentaries. Rosetta, in her turn, told the ladies exactly what she did, but never a word about what she felt. She described her big parties with amusing vividness, presenting the funny side' of Indian life, the ridiculous jealousies, the insistence upon formalities, the side-splitting spectacle of solemn asses masquerading as lions.

'My syce,' she wrote, was kicked off my pony, which then ran away. This is how he reports the matter to me: "Your Excellency, the pony you entrusted to me developed yesterday a domineering character, and left my custody. My God! how annoying."

Reading this aloud to Jaqueline, Prudence remarked: 'I trust that dear Rosetta adapts herself to these strange surroundings. I fancied-perhaps I was mistaken-that Sir Rodney was not too well pleased with her girlish habit of making fun of things and people.'

But he observed that her youth was no disability to him.'
True, true. Thank you for reminding me of that.'

One day, Jaqueline, with audacity, said: 'It's rather odd, sister, but the child has never suggested that we should pay her a visit.'

Prudence wondered if dear Jaqueline was getting flighty.

A visit?' she repeated, almost peevishly, a voyage to India? If Rosetta were foolish enough to make such a mad suggestion, I should entreat her to consult her medical attendant.'

'I know we couldn't go, sister; but one likes to be asked.' 'Rubbish! Now what put this idea into your head?' Jaqueline paused to collect her wits.

'Well, dear, I suppose it is natural for us to want to know how she is.'

'How she is?'

'I read a sentence of Landor's the other day which impressed me " Death to the reflecting mind is less serious than matrimony." I lie awake sometimes, sister, wondering whether Rosetta is really happy.'

Of course she is happy. You are getting morbid, Jaqueline.'

Perhaps. I have not your nerves.'

By this time, each sister was expecting news of an intimately domestic character. A hint concerning it roused them to quivering agitation.

'I am keeping rather quiet just now,' wrote Rosetta. 'Rodney is behaving like a fussy old woman.'

At this Prudence said: 'I shall open

old port to-night.'

The next letter was more explicit :

bottle of our father's

Rodney is absolutely certain that it will be a boy. Nothing else is possible. I did not tell you before, because I knew you would fret yourselves to fiddle-strings, but the Great Event will take place in two months.'

We must send out the christening robe,' said Jaqueline.

This ancient and priceless garment had descended to the Sisters through their mother, a de Clancy. The garment had been fashioned most cunningly for Hugo de Clancy, who lost his life at Naseby. Fifty, at least, of the cavalier's descendants had worn this historic robe. It was despatched to India by the next mail, with a card bearing this inscription: For the dear little son.'

Ironic Fate decreed, of course, that it should be a daughter. She wore the christening robe of Sir Hugo de Clancy, and was christened Rose. The mother did not recover quickly from her confinement, although the Sisters remained in ignorance of this for some months. The disappointment, never once alleviated by speech, affected the ladies grievously, and they were fully prepared to make allowance for Sir Rodney, when Rosetta wrote as follows:

He made ridiculously
He had gone so far as

'Rodney has taken this hard. certain that the baby must be a son. to ask a friend to put the boy's name down for a club or two. He intended to enter him at his old house at Eton. He was to be called Rodney Mauleverer, and so forth. His first glimpse of the mite gave him a sort of suppressed fit. The creature was comically ugly, yellow as an orange, and puckered with wrinkles. I tried to soften him with a feeble joke, expressing my conviction that we were undoubtedly descended from monkeys. However, this little monkey has a pretty pair of eyes, dark blue, with long lashes, and her complexion is now quite what it ought to be. All the same, Rodney seldom looks at her. . . .'

Oh, dear!' exclaimed Jaqueline.

'Pish!' said Prudence. I predict that little Rose will be the apple of his eye.'

I would give my diamond ring to see her, Sister.'

'We shall see her in due time. Babies, I confess, have never appealed to me.'

Before Rose was short-coated, the probability of the mother returning to England was mentioned in a letter, but, later, Rosetta herself dashed this rose-coloured hope (Jaqueline's joke) to the ground. I do not wish to leave Rodney,' she wrote, assigning no reasons. Prudence seized upon the obvious one, saying to Jaqueline with an inflection of defiance: There, my dear. I trust you are satisfied.'

'Satisfied? Because Rosetta is not coming?'

1

'We could have had no greater proof of her love for her husband.'

Jaqueline smiled happily.

Quite, quite. How stupid of me not to see that! Yes, yes, dear Rosetta! I am quite resigned now.'

They sent out some toys, oblivious of the fact that Rose was for the moment interested in nothing except her bottle. Crump remarked to Cook that the ladies looked younger, and seemed to have developed curiosity concerning babies in Hog Lane, confining themselves, however, to patting and pinching the cheeks of the cleanest specimens. Crump discovered a copy of Hints to Mothers,' by Dr. Pye Chevasse, concealed beneath a pile of lavender-scented pocket-handkerchiefs in Jaqueline's and she remarked also that the candles were consumed much more quickly. The inference that Jaqueline, who hitherto had condemned reading in bed as one of the deadly sins, was breaking a self-imposed law, became too salient to be ignored. Prudence spent a morning in collecting many carefully mended little books, long covered with dust, such as Line upon Line,' and the Peep of Day,' with inscriptions in delicate flowing handwriting: To my dear little Prudence, with Mamma's best love.' She put them away in a drawer of her davenport, and with them, perhaps, a thousand dim and inarticulate thoughts not to be transcribed into words. Jaqueline, about the same time, ascended to the garret, and fished out of a prehistoric trunk a large doll, once her dearest possession, and still in a remarkable state of preservation. Rosetta had never been allowed to play with this beloved symbol of childhood, now destined for Rose, and presently to be equipped with a new and complete set of clothes.

Four years elapsed, and then Sir Rodney Brough returned to England as Lord Brough of Ord, the border town of the famous proconsul's birth. With him came Rosetta and Rose. The excitement of the Sisters was the greater, because no sign. of it was visible to the good people of Charminster. The ladies went up to London to greet the distinguished travellers. Changes, as Prudence remarked, were to be expected, but the change in Rosetta was startling. She had become a great lady, très grande dame, so Jaqueline declared, with a manner charmingly gracious, but conveying the impression of a mature woman more ready to receive confidence than to bestow it.

Her grim husband had become grimmer, and more silent. A cartoon appeared of him by Pellegrini, with the superscription: 'The Iron Hand.' Rosetta had lost colour and dimples, but a certain attenuation became her vastly well, revealing the finer lines of a beautiful face and figure. The sparkle of youth had vanished, leaving behind it shadows in the lovely eyes. An odd restlessness consumed her. The Broughs rented a house for the season, and Prudence observed with satisfaction that every detail of management was undertaken by its mistress.

In fine, Rosetta, the laughing, thoughtless, impulsive, affectionate child, had vanished.

In her place stood-Rose.

The meeting between the Aunts-for we must now so consider them--and niece took place in a bedroom at a hotel. Rosetta went into another room, and reappeared, leading the child by the hand.

For an instant, the ladies were confounded. For they beheld a tiny elf, with no trace of her mother's beauty, and exhibiting none of that milk and rose colouring so dear to elderly ladies of the mid-Victorian period.

'We call her Brownie,' said Rosetta.

'She will always be Rose to us,' said Jaqueline fervently. The child kissed her Aunts demurely, without effusion, gazing steadily at their slightly flushed faces. She was, by odds, the most composed person present. When Jaqueline, abandoning all restraint, dropped upon her knees, and flung her arms about the too thin little neck, murmuring: So many kisses have been growing for you,' the maid answered quaintly: Thank you, my dear.'

Rosetta laughed.

She calls me "my dear." You have received a compliment.'

Prudence ejaculated:

'Bless my soul!'

A few minutes later, Jaqueline produced her doll. A great moment this, and not without significance. Rose examined it with solemn interest.

'She talks,' said Jaqueline. Squeeze her and see.'

Rose squeezed the accomplished doll in the wrong place, and asked gravely:

What is your name?'