y, "we have never talked together
seriously for a long time; not since the first night we met."

"I remember, you were good to me then," answered Christal, a little
subdued.

"Because I was grieved for you--I pitied you." "Pitied!" and the angry
demon again rose. Olive saw she must not touch that chord again.

"My dear," she said, still more kindly; "indeed I have neither the wish
nor the right to rule you; I only advise." "And to advice I am ready to
listen. Don't mistake me, Miss Rothesay. I liked you--I do still--very
much indeed; but you don't quite understand or sympathise with me now."

"Why not, dear? Is it because I have little time to be with you, being
so much occupied with my mother, and with my profession?"

"Ay, that is it," said Christal, loftily. "My dear Miss Rothesay, I
am much obliged to you for all your kindness; but we do not suit one
another. I have found that out since I visited at Farnwood Hall. There
is a difference between a mere artist working for a livelihood, and an
independent lady."

Even Christal, abrupt as her anger had made her, blushed for the
rudeness of this speech. But false shame kept her from offering any
atonement.

Olive's slight figure expressed unwonted dignity. In her arose something
of the old Rothesay pride, but still more of pride in her Art. "There is
a difference; but, to my way of thinking, it is often on the side of the
artist."

Christal made no answer, and Olive continued, resuming her usual manner.
"Come, we will not discuss this matter. All that need be decided now,
is, whether or not I shall draw the sum you will require to buy your
horse. I will, if you desire it; because, as you say, I have indeed
no control over you. But, my dear Christal, I entreat you to pause and
consider; at least till morning."

Olive rose, for she was unequal to further conversation. Deeply it
pained her that this girl, whom she wished so to love, should
evidently turn from her, not in dislike, but in a sort of contemptuous
indifference. Still she made one effort more. As she was retiring, she
went up, bade her good-night, and kissed her as usual.

"Do not let this conversation make any division between us, Christal."

"Oh no," said Christal, rather coldly. "Only," she added, in the
passionate, yet mournful tone, which she had before used when at
Woodford Cottage; "only, you must not interfere with me, Olive.
Remember, I was not brought up like you. I had no one to control me,