I understood, or felt, enough of what I heard, and of the sympathetic sighs that followed Mrs.Cadman's speech, to make me stumble over the Tower of Babel, and present myself at Mrs.Cadman's knee with the question-- "Is mamma too pretty and good for this world, Mrs.Cadman ?" I caught her elderly wink as quickly as the housekeeper, to whom it was directed.

I was not completely deceived by her answer.
"Why, bless his dear heart, Master Reginald.

Who did he think I was talking about, love ?" "My new baby sister," said I, without hesitation.
"No such thing, lovey," said the audacious Mrs.Cadman; "housekeeper and me was talking about Mrs.Jones's little boy." "Where does Mrs.Jones live ?" I asked.
"In London town, my dear." I sighed.

I knew nothing of London town, and could not prove that Mrs.
Jones had no existence.

But I felt dimly dissatisfied, in spite of a slice of sponge-cake, and being put to bed (for a treat) in papa's dressing-room.