'Oh yes!' came Aunt Annie's voice through the chink. 'And there's the portrait! Oh! and what a smudge across the nose! Henry, it doesn't make you look at all nice. You're too black. Oh, Henry! what do you think it's called? "Lions in their Lairs. No. 19. Interview with the brilliant author of Love in Babylon." And you told us her name was Foster.'
'Whose name?' Henry demanded, reddening in the hot water.
'You know—that lady's name, the one that called.'
'So it is.'
'No, it isn't, dear. It's Flossie Brighteye. Oh, I beg pardon, Henry! I'm sure I beg pardon!'
Aunt Annie, in the excitement of discovering Miss Foster's real name, and ground withal for her original suspicion that the self-styled Miss Foster was no better than she ought to be, had leaned too heavily against the door, and thrust it wide open. She averted her eyes and drew it to in silence.
'Shall I show the paper to your mother at once?' she asked, after a fit pause.
'Yes, do,' said Henry.
'And then bring it up to you again for you to read in bed?'
'Oh,' replied Henry in the grand manner, 'I can read it to-morrow morning.