unjustly accusing her.

"And I assure you, Aunt Pauline," May continued, "that the little house she is living in—poor and humble, of course, in comparison with her old home—is a pattern of neatness."

"You say 'poor and humble,' May; but do you not think that a house at forty-five pounds a year is quite as good as she has any right to expect, under the circumstances? I do. And that poor young Bransby has to be responsible for the rent."

"I am sure Mrs. Bransby won't let him be out of pocket, if she can possibly help it."

"I dare say. But she is a sadly unpractical person."

"It was most touching to see her with all those children about her, trying to be cheerful and composed; and looking so lovely in her melancholy mourning dress."

"I presume she wears crape? Ah! There's no more extravagant wear. She might have one dress trimmed with crape for occasions; but her ordinary everyday frocks ought to be of plain black stuff. Hemstitched muslin collars and cuffs, perhaps," added Mrs. Dormer-Smith, relenting at the image of uncompromising ugliness she had herself conjured up. "But they can be made at home, and need not cost much. Has she any lodgers?"

"No, not yet. But there has been very little time. And it is difficult, she says, to find suitable persons."

"Yes, that is precisely the kind of thing one would expect her to say. That is the speech of a thoroughly unpractical person."

"The fact is," burst out May hotly, "it is unpractical to be poor! It is unpractical to be left a widow, with five children, and only a miserable pittance to keep them on!"

It was intolerable to hear Aunt Pauline sitting in judgment on this poor lady, of whom she really knew nothing whatever save her misfortunes. And May was greatly astonished at the glib way in which her aunt, usually so prosaically matter-of-fact, discoursed about Mrs. Bransby, putting in visionary details with a lavish fancy. The girl had yet to learn that the most narrow and commonplace minds are capable of wild exaggeration within their own sphere, and that to be unimaginative is no guarantee for truthfulness of perception.

Mrs. Dormer-Smith, whatever her defects might be, possessed almost perfect gentleness of temper. She merely said softly, "May, May, when will you understand that nothing