"Oh, Lottie, how can I tell. It depends."
"Depends entirely whether you spend it with Mr. Right, I should say, my dear," puts in Pauline.
"With Mr. Right? I don't understand. Who is Mr. Right, Pauline? I don't know him."
"Well, I suppose Mr. Right is not Mr. Wrong, Lottie. That's all I can tell you about him at present."
"Oh, I see, I see! What a good way of putting it! Addie, is your husband Mr. Ri—"
"Lottie, if you ask me another question until I have finished my tea, a certain brown-paper parcel at the bottom of my trunk addressed to you will go to-morrow to the Children's Hospital at Kelvick," answers Addie desperately.
Lottie's voice is not heard for twenty minutes.
"Now is your time, girls, to tell me everything about every one," Addie says presently, her spirits reviving—"dear Aunt Jo, and the boys?"
"All flourishing. I had a letter this morning from Aunt Jo, inclosing her grandmother's—Lady Susan Something's—famous recipe for catchup promised to you as a wedding-dower, Addie. And Hal likes his school, for a wonder, immensely; he is full of football, and cricket, and the rest of it. It seems to me that the paths to knowledge are made as flowery as possible at Dr. Jellett's."
"And Bob, dear Bob?"