“Abby!” gasped Selina. “I must beg of you to guard your tongue! If anyone were to hear you—!”

“Well, no one but you can hear me,” Abby pointed out. “And all I said was—”

“I know nothing about that class of person!” interrupted Selina hastily.

“No, nor do I,” said Abby, on a note of regret. “Except what I’ve read, of course, and that diverting man who came to a ball the Ashendens gave—oh, years ago! Papa said he would not permit a daughter of his to stand up for as much as one dance with such a fellow as that,only I had already done so, and very agreeable it was! I don’t know that he was a libertine, but I do know that he was a shocking flirt—and not because Rowland told me so! In that consequential way of his, which made him look just like Papa—you know!”

It was evident that whatever Miss Wendover might have known she was determined to forget. Summoning to her aid all the authority of her years, she said, in a voice of the gravest reproof: “Must I remind you, Abigail, that dear Rowland is dead?”

“No, and you need not remind me that he was our eldest brother either. Or call me by that detestable name! Whatever else I might forgive Papa, that I never could! Abigail! Mashams and maidservants!”

“Some people think it a charming name!” said Selina, casting an arch look at her. “One of them is Canon Pinfold, who thinks you are charming too! He says that it is from the Hebrew, and means father rejoiced.”

After a stunned moment, her unregenerate sister went into a peal of laughter. It was several minutes before she could do more than wail: “Papa c-can’t have kn-known that! He w-wan-ted another son!” and when she did manage to stop laughing Selina’s look of pained reproach very nearly set her off again.

She bit her lip, and said, a little shakily: “Don’t mind me!