"She is very pretty, Aunt Selina, very pretty—much prettier than any of the ladies about here."
Miss Penelope gave a little disdainful sniff, and glanced at her own reflection in the pier-glass.
"I don't think I can quite explain how she looks," the child continued doubtfully, "but she's like Jack; only her hair is quite dark, and his is yellow like gold. Oh, Aunt Selina, is it not sad? Jack cannot walk; he won't ever be able to walk. I mean to be kind to him, poor fellow!"
"The newcomers have evidently got you on their side already, Theodore," Miss Penelope remarked disagreeably; "and you were so certain you would hate your new mother."
"She is not my mother!" the boy cried, his cheeks flushing hotly, his handsome face clouding with anger. "But I never said I should hate her. How could I tell what she would be like? I meant to fight Jack; but I'm not a coward, and now I've seen him I couldn't hit him."
"No, no," Miss Selina interposed hastily, with a warning look at her sister. "Of course we knew there was a child, but we had not heard he was a cripple."
"He will never be better in this world," Theodore declared solemnly. "He will have to wait till he dies to get well."
"Dear me! that's very sad."
"He's about my age, Aunt Selina, and he's very clever. You can't think what a lot he knows about all sorts of things. He says his mother teaches him."
"And how is your father, my dear?"