"Gabriella in the room?" he repeated in perplexity. "Why, you'd better
go, hadn't you, Gabriella? Oughtn't she to go, Pussy?"

"Just as you think best, dear, but it seems to me--"

"Certainly she ought to go," said Uncle Meriweather decisively. "The
less women and girls know about such matters, the better. I don't
understand, Fanny, how you could possibly have consented to Gabriella's
being present."

"I didn't consent, Uncle Meriweather," protested poor Mrs. Carr, who
could not bear the mildest rebuke without tears; "I only said to Pussy
that Gabriella knew a great deal more already than she ought to, and I'm
sure I'm not to blame for it. If I'd had my way she would have been just
as sheltered as other girls."

"Don't cry, mother, it isn't your fault," said Gabriella. "Uncle
Meriweather, if you make mother cry I'll never forgive you. How can she
help all these dreadful things going on?"

She was sensible, she was composed, she was perfectly sweet about it;
but, and this fact made Pussy gasp with dismay, she did not budge an
inch from her position. With her clear grave eyes, which lost their
sparkle when she grew serious, and her manner of eager sympathy, she
appeared, indeed, to be the only one in the room who was capable of
facing the situation with frankness. That she meant to face it to the
end, Pussy could not doubt while she looked at her.

"Oh, it doesn't matter about Gabriella. She knows everything," said