Mrs. was so glad to see me; she took hold of me by both hands.
She said: "My dear child, you are improving. You were wretchedly
thin when I saw you last. Now you are almost as well-developed
as your sister. I think you are prettier than your sister." Mr.
didn't agree to that. He and his wife began to dispute about me
before my face. I do call that an aggravating thing to endure.

Mr. said: "She hasn't got her sister's pretty gray eyes."

Mrs. said; "She has got pretty brown eyes, which are just as
good."

Mr. said: "You can't compare her complexion with Helena's."

Mrs. said: "I like Eunice's pale complexion. So delicate."

Young Miss struck in: "I admire Helena's hair--light brown."

Young Master took his turn: "I prefer Eunice's hair--dark brown."

Mr. opened his great big mouth, and asked a question: "Which
of you two sisters is the oldest? I forget."

Mrs. answered for me: "Helena is the oldest; she told us so when
she was here last."

I really could _not_ stand that. "You must be mistaken," I burst
out.

"Certainly not, my dear."