"That child won't live to grow up," said Miss Clotilde Stellenthorpe defiantly.
"Good heavens, Clo, what a thing to say in front of her own mother!"
Eleanor was half indignant and half tearful.
"Mark my words," said Aunt Clo inexorably.
Her brother Philip looked at her in pained rebuke.
"I don't like to hear you say a thing like that, Clo. It's—it's heartless. Poor little Vonnie!"
"But no! There is nothing heartless about it. You and Eleanor refuse to face facts, my poor Philip. Why, you have only to look at Vonnie to see that she isn't——"
Philip winced so painfully, holding up his hand as though in protest, that she broke off.
"But just compare her with Lily, who is two years younger! Look at the way Lily chatters, and the too, too precocious things she says, and the way she can read and play her little pieces on the piano! Not that I approve of the way you exploit the child, my Eleanor. It's very bad for her, alas! and I can see that she thinks herself tremendously superior to poor little Vonnie, always left out of everything."
"We have always been devoted to both our little children, Clo," said Philip gravely. "It may be rather a temptation to take Lily about with us more than is quite good for her—she is a very pretty little mite, and one likes to hear her chatter, and to make her happy. But we love both our dear little girls equally, as they know very well."