“Sally Dickinson, my love,” said Mrs. Bateman. “I should know you anywhere.”
It was now the turn of Mrs. Plunket to grow bewildered.
“There is some mystery here,” said she. “If she is Araminta Perry she cannot be Sally Dickinson, and if she is Sally Dickinson she cannot be Araminta Perry.”
All concerned seemed to feel that this was pregnant reasoning.
“That is right, Mrs. Plunket,” said Mrs. Bateman, “that is common sense and human nature.”
“Are you r-r-really Aunt Caroline?” said Miss Perry, with her blue eyes growing rounder and rounder.
“Of course I am, my love,” said Mrs. Bateman, affectionately; “and very proud to be the aunt of such a bouncing girl as you.”
It was left to the practical intelligence of Mrs. Plunket to find the solution to the puzzle.
“I presume,” said she to Miss Perry with great severity, “that Bateman is the name of your Aunt Caroline.”
“Oh, no,” said that Featherbrain.