“Oh, Jasper!” exclaimed Polly, seizing his arm, feeling that here was need of comfort indeed, “how very dreadful!  Don’t you suppose something will happen to take her away?”

“I don’t see what can,” said Jasper, prolonging the gloom to feel the comfort it brought.  “You see she has nobody who wants her, to step in and relieve us.  She has two nephews, but oh! you ought to see them fight!”

“Fight?” repeated Polly aghast.

“Yes; you can’t dignify their skirmishes by any other name,” said Jasper, in disgust.  “So you see our chances for keeping her as long as she condescends to stay are really very good.”

Polly clung to his arm in speechless dismay.  Meanwhile conversation fast and brisk was going on between the two shut up in the library.

“It is greatly to your discredit, Marian,” said Mrs. Chatterton in a high, cold voice, “that you didn’t stop all this nonsense on your father’s part, before the thing got to such a pass as to install them in this house.”

“On the contrary,” said Mrs. Whitney with a little laugh, “I did everything I could to further the plan that father wisely made.”

“Wisely!” cried Mrs. Chatterton in scorn.  “Oh, you silly child! don’t you see what it will all tend to?”

“I see that it has made us all very happy for five years,” said Mrs. Whitney, preserving her composure, “so I presume the future doesn’t hold much to dread on that score.”

“The future is all you have to dread,” declared Mrs. Chatterton harshly.  “The present may be well enough; though I should think existence with that low, underbred family here, would be a”?

“You may pause just where you are, Mrs. Chatterton,” said Marian, still with the gentlest of accents, but with a determination that made the other look down at her in astonishment, “not another word shall you utter in that strain, nor will I listen to it.”  And with fine temper undisturbed in her blue eyes, she regarded her relative.

“Dear me, Marian!  I begin to notice your age more now.  You shouldn’t fly into such rages; they wear on one fearfully; and especially for a stranger too, and against your own people—­how can you?”

Mrs. Chatterton drew out a vinaigrette, then a fan from a silken bag, with clasps that she was always glad to reflect were heirlooms.  “It’s trying, I must confess,” she declared, alternately applying the invigorating salts and waving the combination of gauze and sandalwood, “to come home to such a reception.  But,” and a heavy sigh, “I must bear it.”

“You ought to see father,” cried Mrs. Whitney, rising.  “I must go at once and tell him of your arrival.”

“Oh!  I don’t know that I care about seeing Cousin Horatio yet,” said Mrs. Chatterton carelessly.  “He will probably fall into one of his rages, and my nerves have been upset quite enough by you.  I think I’ll go directly to my apartments.”  She rose also.

“Father must at once be informed of your arrival,” repeated Marian quietly.  “I’ll send him in to see you.”