aring, and knew what you thought."

When anger began he looked his brother full in the face, thus noticing
how thin that face was, too thin for a man in the prime of life, and the
eye was too bright. As the brief feeling of annoyance subsided, the
habitual charm of the elder man's smile made him continue to look at
him.

"And yet," continued Robert, "two wrongs do not make a right. That I am
a snob does not excuse you for taking up any line of life short of the
noblest within your reach."

The other again warned himself against hidden danger. "You're such a
confoundedly fascinating fellow, with your smiles and your suppressed
religion, I don't wonder the girls run after you. But you are a
Jesuit--I never called you a snob--you're giving yourself names to fetch
me round to see things your way."

It was an outburst, half of admiring affection, half of angry obstinacy,
and the elder brother received it without resentment, albeit a little
absently. He was thinking that if Alec held out, "the girls" would not
run after him much more. But then he thought that there was one among
them who would not think less, who perhaps might think more of him, for
this sacrifice. He had not made it for her; it might never be his lot to
make any sacrifice for her; yet she perhaps would understand this one
and applaud it. The thought brought a sudden light to his face, and
Alec watched the light and had no clue by which to understand it. He
began, however, defending himself.

"Look here! You suggest I should take the noblest course, as if I had
never thought of that before. I'm not lower in the scale of creation
than you, and I've had the same bringing up. I've never done anything
great, but I've tried not to do the other thing. I felt I should be a
sneak when I left school if I disappointed father for the sake of being
something fine, and I feel I should be a sneak now if I turned--"

"You acted like the dear fellow I always knew you were in the first
instance, but why is it the same now? It's not for his sake, surely,
for, for all you know, from where he is now, the sight of you going on
with that work may not give him pleasure, but pain."

"No; I went into it to please him, but now he's gone that's ended."

"Then it's _not_ the same now. Why do you say you'd feel like a sneak if
you changed? There is, I think, no goddess or patron saint of the trade,
who would be personally offended at your desertion."

"You don't understand at a