That pleased Missy; and, despite her agitation over this malaprop
theme, she couldn't resist the impulse to air her lately acquired
learning.

"Yes, but she has different names in all the different languages,
you know. And she was the most beautiful lady or maiden that ever
lived."

"Is that so?" said Uncle Charlie. "More beautiful than your Aunt
Isabel?"

Missy hesitated, confused; the conversation was getting on dangerous
ground. "Why, I guess they're the same type, don't you? I've often
thought Aunt Isabel looks like La Beale Isoud."

Uncle Charlie smiled again at her--an altogether cheerful kind of
smile; no, he didn't suspect any tragic undercurrent beneath this
pleasant-sounding conversation. All he said was:

"Aunt Isabel should feel flattered--but I hope she finds a happier
lot."

Ah!

"Yes, I hope so," breathed Missy, rather weakly.

Then Uncle Charlie at last closed the book.

"Poor Tristram and Isolde," he said, as if speaking an epitaph.