"I knew it," said Blanche triumphantly. "I felt certain their name would be either Tomkinson or Hopkinson–I was not sure which–but I thought the chances were in favour of Hop rather than Tom."
Aunt Sarah did not smile, but drew the mesh out of her netting and began a fresh row.
"Go on, Aunt Sarah," said Blanche demurely.
"I am going on, thank you, my dear, very nicely; I expect to finish this net this week."
Blanche looked at her aunt to ascertain if she looked angry, or piqued, or affronted; but Aunt Sarah's countenance was totally incapable of any expression but that of imperturbable stolid sense and good-humour. She did not care for Blanche's little vivacities.
"Do you know the Hopkinsons, Aunt Sarah?"
"No, my dear."
"Nor their history, nor their number, nor their habits? Recollect, Aunt Sarah, they
