Iris was so much petrified that she could not stir.  Diana and Orion came close together, and Diana flung her stout little arm round Orion’s fat neck.  Apollo, however, sprang forward and placed a chair for his aunt.

“Will you sit here, please, Aunt Jane Dolman?” he said.

“You need not say Aunt Jane Dolman,” replied the lady; “that is a very stiff way of speaking.  Say Aunt Jane.  You can kiss me, little boy.”

Apollo raised his lips and bestowed a very chaste salute upon Aunt Jane’s fat cheek.

“What is your name?” said Aunt Jane, taking one of his small, hard hands in hers.

“Apollo,” he replied, flinging his head back.

“Apollo!  Heaven preserve us!  Why, that is the name of one of the heathen deities—­positively impious.  What could my poor sister-in-law and your father have been thinking of?  At one time I considered your father a man of sense.”

Apollo flushed a beautiful rosy red.

“Please, Aunt Jane,” he said, “I like my name very much indeed, and I would rather you did not say a word against it, because mother gave it to me.”

“It is a name with a beautiful meaning,” said Iris, coming forward at last.  “How are you Aunt Jane?  My name is Iris, and this is Diana, and this is Orion—­both Diana and Orion are very good children indeed, and”—­here her lips quivered, her earnest, brown eyes were fixed with great solicitude on her aunt’s face—­“I ought to know,” she said, “for I am a mother to the others, and, I think, please, Aunt Jane, Orion and Diana should be going to bed now.”

“I have not the slightest objection, my dear.  I simply wished to see you children.  I will say good-night now; we can have a further talk to-morrow.  But first, before I go, let me repeat over your names, or rather you—­Apollo, I think you call yourself—­had better say them for me.”

“That is Iris,” said Apollo, pointing to his elder sister, “and I am Apollo, and that is Diana, and that is Orion.”

“All four names taken from the heathen mythology,” replied Aunt Jane, “and I, the wife of a good honest clergyman of the Church of England, have to listen to this nonsense.  I declare it may be inconvenient—­it may frighten the parishioners.  I must think it well over.  I have, of course, heard before of girls being called Diana, and also of girls being called Iris—­but Apollo and Orion!  My poor children, I am sorry for you; you are burdened for life.  Good-night, good-night!  You will see me again to-morrow.”

The great dinner-gong sounded through the house, and Aunt Jane sailed away from the day-nursery.

“Fortune, who is she?” asked Iris, raising a pair of almost frightened eyes to the old nurse’s face.

“She is your father’s sister, my darling,” said Fortune.  “She has come on a visit, and uninvited, Peter tells me.  I doubt if my master is pleased to see her.  She will most likely go away in a day or two, so don’t you fret, Miss Iris, love.  Now, come along, Master Orion, and let me undress you.  It is very late, and you ought to be in your little bed.”