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 forgotten how to be sentimental except on paper.”

“I don’t want to be sentimental,” said Kitty, a little injured, “neither does”

Here the editor came in.

“You don’t want to be sentimental either,” Kitty went on; “do you—Mr Editor?”

The editor looked a little doubtful.

“I want to be happy, at any rate,” said he, “and I mean to be.”

“And he can’t be happy unless you smile on him. Smile on him, Auntie!” cried a new, radiant Kitty, to whom aunts no longer presented any terrors. “Say ‘Bless you, my children!’ Auntie—do!”

“Get along with your nonsense!” said Aunt Eliza. Or was it Aunt Kate?