you thoughtless and ungovernable."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Aunt Barbara!" cried Kate, with a bouncing
bound that did not promise much for her thought or her
governableness; but perhaps Lady Barbara recollected what her own
childhood would have been without Jane, for she was not much
discomposed, only she said,

"It is very odd you should be so uncivil to the child in her
presence, and so ecstatic now! However, take care you do not get too
familiar. Remember, these Wardours are no relations, and I will not
have you letting them call you by your Christian name."

Kate's bright looks sank. That old married-woman sound, Lady
Caergwent, seemed as if it would be a bar between her and the free
childish fun she hoped for. Yet when so much had been granted, she
must not call her aunt cross and unkind, though she did think it hard
and proud.

Perhaps she was partly right; but after all, little people cannot
judge what is right in matters of familiarity. They have only to do
as they are told, and they may be sure of this, that friendship and
respect depend much more on what people are in themselves than on
what they call one another.

This lady was the widow of Mr. Wardour's brother, and lived among a
great clan of his family in a distant county, where Mary and her
father had sometimes made visits, but the younger ones never. Kate
was not likely to have been asked there, for it was thought very hard
that she should be left on the hands of her aunt's husband: and much