“Yes,” said Ladybird, still contentedly.
“And of course,” went on Mr. Ward, “you, as her aunts, and her only living relatives, are responsible for her welfare.”
“Certainly,” said Miss Dorinda, who was holding the calm, golden-haired child by the hand.
“Certainly,” said Miss Priscilla, who was holding Ladybird and Cloppy both in her arms.
“Then,” said Mr. Ward, “may I assume that you, the Misses Flint, undertake the maintenance and support of Lavinia Lovell?”
“Certainly,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, with great dignity, although she spoke over the shoulder of a turbulent child, and a no less quivering dog—“certainly we undertake the support and maintenance of the child who is, as you have proved to us, the daughter of our sister Lavinia.”
“And what about me, aunty?” said Ladybird.
“You are ours, also, child,” said Miss Priscilla; “and I would just like to see you get away!”
“You’re a nice lady, aunty,” said Ladybird, stroking the withered cheek of Miss Priscilla. “And do you mean that it is settled that I am to live here with this new Lavinia Lovell?”
“It isn’t a new Lavinia Lovell,” said Aunt Dorinda, “for you aren’t Lavinia Lovell at all; you’re only Ladybird Lovell.”