o impart English. I conclude that at your age you at least
know your mother tongue thoroughly."

"But that's just it, I do not," said Florence. "I know French fairly
well for a girl of my age, and I have a smattering of German, and am
fairly fond of music. I don't care for English History nor English
Literature, and I have not studied either of them; and my grammar is
very weak, and my spelling--well, Aunt Susan, I can't spell properly.
I am sorry, but I inherit bad spelling from my mother."

"Oh, Florence!" cried the poor little widow.

"I do, Mummy; you know perfectly well that you have never yet spelt
'arrange' right, nor 'agreeable.' You always leave out one of the 'e's'
in the middle of agreeable. Oh, I have had such a fight with those two
words, and I do inherit my bad spelling from you. Well, Aunt Susan,
what more do you wish me to say?"

"I cannot admire your manners, Florence, and as to your appearance, it
leaves very much to be desired."

Mrs. Aylmer looked very calmly all over Florence. Florence suddenly
sprang to her feet, her temper was getting the better of her. She
inherited her temper, not from her mother, for the little Mummy had the
easiest-going temper in the world, but from her father. John Aylmer
when he was alive had been known to plead his own cause with effect on
more than one occasion, and now some of his spirit animated his young
daughter. She rose to her feet and spoke hastily.

"I am not good-looking," she said, "and I know it; I cannot help my
features, God gave them to me and I must be content with them. My nose
is snub and my mouth is wide, but I have got some good points, and if I
were your daughter, Aunt Susan--and I am heartily glad I'm not your
daughter; I would much, much rather be Mummy's daughter, poor as she
is--but if I were your daughter you would dress me in such a fashion
that my good points would come out, for I have good points; a nice
complexion, fine hair and plenty of it, and fairly good eyes, and my
figure would not look clumsy if I wore proper stays and properly-made
dresses; and my feet would not be like clodhoppers, if I had fine
well-made boots and silk stockings; and my hands----"

"You need not proceed, Florence," said Mrs. Aylmer, rising abruptly.
"Mabel, I pity you; I should like to wash my hands of your daughter,
but I cannot forget my promise to my poor dead husband, who begged me
on his deathbed not to allow either of you to starve. 'For the s