ishing touch to Molly's righteous anger.
Brandishing a hairbrush threateningly, she marched over to her sister
and looked down upon the slender figure, in its clinging white dress,
with blazing eyes.

"Look here," she cried, "there must be an end of this. I can put up
with your slyness no longer. How _dare_ you have secrets from me,
miss?--your own twin sister! You and I, who used never to have a
thought we did not share. How dare you have a lover, and not tell me
all about him? What was the meaning of your weeping like a fountain
all the way from Bath to Shrewsbury, and then, without rhyme or reason
apparently, smiling to yourself all the way from there to Lancaster.
You have had a letter, don't attempt to deny it, it is of no use....
Oh, it is base of you, it is indeed! And to think that it is all
through you that I am forced into this exile, through your _airs
penches_, and your sighing and dreaming, and your mysterous
_Smith_.... To think that to-night, this very night, is the ball of
the season, and we are going to bed! Oh, and to-morrow and to-morrow,
and to-morrow, with nothing but a knave and a fool to keep us
company--for I don't think much of your female cousin, Madeleine, and,
as for your male cousin, I perfectly detest him--and all the tabbies
of the country-side for diversion, with perhaps a country buck on high
days and holidays for a relish! Pah!"

Molly had almost talked her ill-humour away. Her energetic nature
could throw off most unpleasant emotions easily enough so long as it
might have an outlet for them; she now laid down the threatening
brush, and, kneeling beside her, flung both her arms round Madeleine's
shoulders.

"Ma petite Madeleine," she coaxed, in the mother tongue, "tell thy
little sister thy secrets."

A faint flush crept to Madeleine's usually creamy cheeks, a light into
her eyes. She turned impulsively to the face near hers, then, as if
bethinking herself, pursed her lips together and shook her head
slightly.

"Do you remember, ma cherie," she said, at last, "that French tale
Mrs. Hambledon lent us in which it is said _'Qui fuit l'amour, l'amour
suit.'_"

"Well?" asked Molly, eagerly, her lips parted as if to drink in the
expected confidence.

"Well," replied the other, "well, perhaps things may not be so bad
after all. Perhaps," rising from her seat, and looking at her sister
with a little gentle malice, while she, too, began to disrobe her
fairer beauty for the night, "som