"I told you so, Titia," said he, darting to an open door facing the
staircase at the gallery's end. "There's papa's study fire lit. I knew
he was coming home to-night, though aunts won't let us sit up, as he said
we should. But I will! I'll lie awake, if it's till twelve o'clock, and
call him as he passes the nursery door."

"You forget," said Titia, drawing herself up with a womanly air, "papa
will not be alone now. He may not care to come to you now he has got
Mrs. Grey."

"Mrs. Grey!"

"You know aunts told us always to call her so. I'm sure I don't want to
call her any thing. I hate her!"

"So do I," rejoined the boy, doubling up his fist with intense enjoyment.
"Wouldn't I like to pitch into her for marrying papa! But yet," with a
sudden compunction, "she gave us lots of cake. And she looked rather
jolly, eh?"

"Jolly! You boys are so vulgar," said the little lady, contemptuously.
"But I dare say you'll like her, for aunts say she is quite a vulgar person.
As for me, I don't mean to take any notice of her at all."

"A deal she'll care for that! Who minds you? you're only a girl."

"I'm glad I'm not a big, ugly, dirty-handed, common boy." Arthur's
reply was short and summary, administered by one of those dirty hands,
as he was in the habit of administering what he doubtless considered