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In they came; down they sat around the room; Emily held her breath; for a few minutes nobody spoke, though Aunt Eva sighed long and heavily. Then Uncle Wallace cleared his throat and said,

“Well, what is to be done with the child?”

Nobody was in a hurry to answer. Emily thought they would never speak. Finally Aunt Eva said with a whine,

“She’s such a difficult child—so odd. I can’t understand her at all.”

“I think,” said Aunt Laura timidly, “that she has what one might call an artistic temperament.”

“She’s a spoiled child,” said Aunt Ruth very decidedly. “There’s work ahead to straighten out her manners, if you ask me.”

(The little listener under the table turned her head and shot a scornful glance at Aunt Ruth through the tablecloth. “I think that your own manners have a slight curve.” Emily did not dare even to murmur the words under her breath, but she shaped them with her mouth; this was a great relief and satisfaction.)

“I agree with you,” said Aunt Eva, “and I for one do not feel equal to the task.”