"Oh, I didn't know there was a title. How splendid," exclaimed Amabel
rapturously. Then after a few moments' innocent maiden reflection
she breathed with sweet hopefulness from under the sheet, "Children
so often have scarlet fever or diphtheria, and you know they
say those very strong ones are more likely to die than the other
kind. The Vicar of Sheen lost FOUR all in a week. And the Vicar
died too. The doctor said the diphtheria wouldn't have killed him
if the shock hadn't helped."

Alice--who had a teaspoonful more brain than her sister--burst
into a fit of giggling it was necessary to smother by stuffing
the sheet in her mouth.

"Oh! Amabel!" she gurgled. "You ARE such a donkey! You would have
been silly enough to say that even if people could have heard you.
Suppose HE had!"

"Why should he care," said Amabel simply. "One can't help thinking
things. If it happened he would be the Earl of Lawdor and--"

She fell again into sweet reflection while Alice giggled a little
more. Then she herself stopped and thought also. After all perhaps--!
One had to be practical. The tenor of her thoughts was such that
she did not giggle again when Amabel broke the silence by whispering
with tremulous, soft devoutness.

"Alice--do you think that praying REALLY helps?"

"I've prayed for things but I never got them," answered Alice.
"But you know what the Vicar said on Sunday in sermon about 'Ask