re that I object to your talking in this familiar way to
Moore, or to any of the servants. Also, that there is _nothing_ I
detest so much as hearing about people's sick sisters, and sick babies,
and so on. Everyone near me appears to have a sick relative just now,
and to neglect their work in consequence."

So Moore's baby was a forbidden subject now as well as Miss Munnion's
sister, Diana. It was a new thing to Iris to keep silence about what
was passing in her mind, and a hundred times in the day she was on the
very edge of some indiscreet remark. She managed to check herself
before it came out, but it was really very difficult and tiresome.

"At any rate," she said to herself, "there's _nothing_ we mus'n't talk
about at home; and though we do all talk at once and make a great noise,
it's much better than not talking at all."

Nevertheless the conversation had made some impression on Mrs
Fotheringham, for the next day, after studying Iris in silence for some
time, she said suddenly:

"Were you sorry not to go to the seaside after Lottie was ill?"

"Lottie?" said Iris; "oh, you mean Dottie. Her real name is Dorothy,
you know, only she's so small, and round, and pudgy, Max says she's like
a full stop. So she's always called Dottie."

"You've not answered my question," said Mrs Fotheringham.

"Why, of course we were all dreadfully sorry," answered Iris. "We did
go once, but I'm the only one who remembers what it was like, because
the others were too small."

"Did you like it?"

"I _loved_ it," said Iris fervently, "The bathing, and the nice swishy
noise the waves made on the beach, and the smell of the sea, and the
rocks, and the sea-weed, and shrimps, and the tiny little crabs. It was
lovely."

"It's a pity you can't often go," remarked Mrs Fotheringham.

"Yes," said Iris with a sigh, "it is. But, you see, the lodgings are so
dear, and there's such a lot of us."

"Ah!" said Mrs Fotheringham, "it's a bad thing to be poor."

Iris looked up quickly. Those were the very words she had said to
herself when she first arrived at Paradise Court. It seemed almost that
her godmother must have overheard them, and yet that was quite
impossible. A bad thing to be poor! Somehow Iris felt now that there
might be worse things than want of money. It flashed across her, as she
looked at Mrs Fotheringham, that she should not like to be a rich old
lady with only a green parrot to love her.

"How would you like