“It is not your little girl; and I am in a hurry, please,” said Diana, who could be very rude when she liked.  She did not wish to be interrupted now; she wanted to find Iris to tell her of the sad fate of Rub-a-Dub.

“Highty-tighty!” exclaimed the little lady, “that is no way to speak to grown-up people.  I expect, too, you are one of my little nieces.  Come here at once and say, ‘How do you do?’”

“Are you the aunt?” asked Diana solemnly.

“The aunt!” replied Mrs. Dolman.  “I am your aunt, my dear.  What is your name?”

“Diana.  Please, aunt, don’t clutch hold of my hand; I want to find Iris.”

“Of all the ridiculous names,” muttered Mrs. Dolman under her breath.  “Well, child, I am inclined to keep you for a moment, as I want to talk to you.  Do you know, you rude little girl, that I have come a long way to see you.  Of course, my little girl, I know you are sad at present; but you must try to get over your great sorrow.”

“Do you know, then, about Rub-a-Dub?” said Diana, her whole face changing, and a look of keen interest coming into it.

If Aunt—­whatever her other name was—­should turn out to be interested in Rub-a-Dub, and sorry for his untimely end, why, then, Diana felt there was a possibility of her squeezing a little corner for her in her hearts of hearts.  But Mrs. Dolman’s next words disturbed the pleasant illusion.

“You are a poor little orphan, my child,” she said.  “Your poor, dear mother’s death must be a terrible sorrow to you; but, believe me, you will get over it after a time.”

“I has quite got over it awready,” answered Diana, in a cheerful voice.  “It would be awfu’ selfish to be sorry ’bout mother, ’cos mother is not suffering any more pain, you know.  I am very glad ’bout mother.  I am going to her some day.  Please don’t squeeze my hand like that.  Good-by, aunt; I weally can’t stay another moment.”

She trotted off, and Mrs. Dolman gazed after her with a petrified expression of horror on her round face.

“Well,” she said to herself, “if ever!  And the poor mother was devoted to them all, and she is scarcely a week in her grave, and yet that mite dares to say she has got over it.  What nonsense she talked, and what a queer name she has.  Now, our family names are sensible and suited for the rising generation.  We have had our Elizabeths and our Anns, and our Lucys and our Marys, and, of course, there is Jane, my name.  All these are what I call good old respectable Delaney names; but Diana and Iris make me sick.  And I believe, if report tells true, that there are some still more extraordinary names in the family.  What a rude, dirty little child!  I did not like her manners at all, and how neglected she looked.  I shall follow her; it is my manifest duty to see to these children at once.  Oh!  I shall have difficulty in breaking them in, but broken in they must be!”

Accordingly Mrs. Dolman turned down the passage where Diana’s fat legs disappeared.  The eager but gentle flow of voices directed her steps, and presently she opened the door of a large room and looked in.