said, as you
asked to know. He said all this"--once more he waved his hand--"was a
mistake, and that I ought to marry."

He threw it out at her like a threat at a naughty child. She would not
like it if he took her at her word and really turned her out.

But even sisters can surprise a man. "Oh Hugh," she cried, forgetting
all their differences, "do you mean you are really thinking----? Only,
do let it be some one really nice, who'll make you as happy as you
deserve to be."

He was too flustered to feel touched. "But wouldn't you mind?" he
asked; and in spite of his efforts, surprise appeared in it.

"Mind?" She came across to him, sat on his chair-arm, and took his
hand in hers. "How little you know me, old boy, really! Of course I
shouldn't mind. You must never, never consider me at all! Do you
imagine I expect you to remain a bachelor your whole life long, just to
look after me? I shall find work to do or something; and anyhow, what
is my life by the side of your career?"

Hubert at moments felt a brute, and this was one of them. He knew that
he should thank her, kiss her, yet he could do neither. He found
himself wondering in a dazed, abstract way, as often in these past
years, whether she was really genuine or whether it was just a woman's
bluff to make him feel his shaft had fallen short. If she was quite
sincere, he felt almost aggrieved. The end of their long life together
seemed to mean so little to her....

"No," he said automatically, not realising how inadequate it was; and
then, "Well, old girl, I really think perhaps _now_ I ought to work."
He patted her hand in a perfunctory way as he released his own from it.
"We've had our little chat and it's your bedtime, I am sure."

"Yes," answered Ruth, and hesitated.

"Hugh," she said presently, "aren't I to know who it is?" Her tone was
more patient than aggrieved, but he read something of the other into it.

"Who what is?" he replied, although he guessed her meaning.

"Who you think of marrying. Who's suddenly put the idea into your
head." She waited a few moments; then, as he said nothing, she added
almost slyly, "Well, I think I know! I've not forgotten Devonshire
yet, and what a lot there was in your letters about Miss--Miss--I
forget her name."

"Oh, that Miss Hallam, you mean," came the icy answer.

It chilled even her exuberance. Her rare gaiety died quickly, and she
looked the martyr once again.

"I see you don't mean t