That's out of the 'Phaedrus,' you know--a very much superior composition to 'Self Help.' So cheer up, auntie, and don't look on me as a doomed soul because we're not both turned out of the same melting-pot.

Now I'm just going upstairs to see to the arrangement of my new room, and then I shall go and help Lubin in the garden." So saying, he strolled out.

But poor Aunt Charlotte only shook her head.

She could not forget how Austin's mother had grieved at not living to bring up her boy, and wished more earnestly than ever that the responsibility had fallen into other hands than hers.

There was something so dreadfully uncanny about Austin.