never
read of an unworthy trait in a woman but he at once pointed its meaning
at her. He called us "spoons," etc. for caring about her, yet, all the
same, she must have been invested with an endless store of associations
in his mind, for his portfolio was full of sketches of her; which seemed
to furnish his ideals of feminine beauty. She was not only Rowena, but
Rebecca as well (with only a change of complexion), Helen of Troy and
Joan of Arc, Cleopatra and the Madonna, Marie Stuart and Elizabeth
Tudor. Still, Jack and I each felt that he was not one with us in his
devotion to her, and we made no confidences to him respecting her. For
Jack and I talked about her incessantly when we were together: when we
saw her in the street below us we nudged each other, and together felt
the thrill, the inextinguishable rapture, of beholding the sunny gleam
of her golden hair and her quick, graceful gait.

We were not rivals. I do not know how the thought of her came to Jack in
those early days, but he had a habit of decision, and I dare say had
made up his mind that she was to be his wife. He had plenty of
pocket-money, and could buy her trinkets, ribbons and gloves: I had no
money, and my tribute to her was of flowers and fruits. It was natural
to both of us to offer her all we could; and it was equally natural to
her to receive our largesse with a smile and laughing thanks if it
pleased her, and a cool, indifferent shrug of contempt if it failed to
suit her.

I carried the thought of her into all my occupations. Were I planting my
mother's flower-beds, were I writing my composition, it was all the
same: the question was, "Will it please Georgy?" Not that it mattered;
and I well knew that I was a fool for it all, for she was steadily
indifferent to any matters in which she had no personal concern, and
despised my pains with scant ceremony. I too held in contempt my small
efforts to please her, and fell a-dreaming of the wonderful things I was
sure to do some time. Not that she was slow in telling us what she
wanted, and her demands upon us were not of the sort that appertain to
heroic achievements; yet I felt, all the same, that let me once be a
hero I must win her approbation. I can remember her sitting in our
garden at home under the laburnums, with the greenery making a
background for her fresh girl-face. From her babyhood her beauty had
been remarked, and at ten years old she was as used to compliments as an
old woman of the