"Tut! tut!" cried the rector, "what talk for Christian people!"
"Oh, they don't mean it," said Mrs. Pell, "you must take our chaff in good part, Mr. Bowen."
Dinner over, the Bowens almost immediately departed, and Iris, catching sight of her disfigured face in a mirror, turned angrily to her aunt.
"I won't stand it!" she exclaimed. "This is the last time I shall let you serve me in this fashion. I'm going to New York to-morrow, and I hope I shall never see you again!"
"Now, dearie, don't be too hard on your old auntie. It was only a joke, you know. I'll get you another frock——"
"It isn't only the frock, Aunt Ursula, it's this horrid state of things generally. Why, I never dare pick up a thing, or touch a thing—without the chance of some fool stunt making trouble for me!"
"Now, now, I will try not to do it any more. But, don't talk about going away. If you do, I'll cut you out of my will entirely."
"I don't care. That would be better than living in a trick house! Look at my face! It will be days before these stains wear off! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Aunt Ursula!"
The old lady looked roguishly penitent, like a naughty child.
"Oh, fiddle-de-dee, you can get them off with whatcha-call-it soap. But I hope you won't! They make you look like a clown in a circus!"