“Bother duties!” said Hortense.
“Ahem! She is your mother’s sister’s child,” spoke Mr. Starkweather, heavily. “She is a young and unprotected female——”
“Seems to me,” said Belle, crossly, “the relationship is far enough removed for us to ignore it. Mother’s sister, Aunt Mary, is dead.”
“True—true. Ahem!” said her father.
“And isn’t it true that this man, Morrell, whom she married, left New York under a cloud?”
“O—oh!” cried Hortense. “So he did.”
“What did he do?” Flossie asked, bluntly.
“Embezzled; didn’t he, Pa?” asked Belle.
“That’s enough!” cried Flossie, tossing her head. “We certainly don’t want a convict’s daughter in the house.”
“Hush, Flossie!” said her father, with sudden sternness. “Prince Morrell was never a convict.”