, though. I'm going to tell him that
you're not to be trusted."

"Then I shall devote myself to Zebedee."

"You won't influence Zebedee's ties," Helen said, "or his collars--the
shiniest ones I have ever seen."

"She won't influence him at all, my good Helen. What's she got to do it
with?"

"This!" Miriam said, rising superbly and displaying herself.

"Shut her up, somebody!" John begged. "This is beastly. Has she nothing
better to do with herself than attracting men? If you met a woman who
made that her profession instead of her play, you'd pass by on the other
side."

Miriam flushed, frowned, and recovered herself. "I might. I don't think
so. I can't see any harm in pleasing people. If I were clever and
frightened them, or witty and made them laugh, it would be just the
same. I happen to be beautiful." She spread her hands and waved them.
"Tell birds not to fly, tell lambs not to skip, tell me to sit and darn
the socks!" She stood on the fender and looked at herself in the glass.
"Besides," she said, "I don't care. I'm not responsible. If Notya hadn't
buried us all here, I might have been living a useful life!" She cast a
sly glance at John. "I might be making butter like Lily Brent."

"Not half so good!"

She ignored that, and went on with her thoughts. "I shall ask Uncle
Alfred what made Notya bring us here."

She turned and stood, very slim in her dark dress, her eyelids lowered,
her lips parted, expectant of reproof and ready with defiance, but no
one spoke. She constantly forgot that her family knew her, but,
remembering that fact, her tilted eyebrows twitched a little. Her face
broke into mischievous curves and dimples.

"What d'you bet?"

"No," Helen said, thinking of her stepmother. "Notya wouldn't like it."

"Bah! Pish! Faugh! Pshaw--and ugh! What do I care? I shall!"

"Oh, a rotten thing to do," said John.

"And, anyhow, it doesn't matter," Helen said. "We're here."

"Rupert?" Miriam begged.

"Better not," he answered kindly. "Not worth while." He lay back in a
big chair and watched the world through his tobacco smoke. He had all
Miriam's darkness and much of her beauty, but he had already acquired a
tolerant view of things which made him the best of companions, the least
ambitious of young men. "Live and let live, my dear."

"I shan't promise. I suppose I'm not up to your standards of honour, but
if a person makes a mystery, why shouldn't the others try to find it
out? That's what it's