ings."

"My dear Rosalind," said her brother, coolly, "I hope I know my place.
I'm ten years younger than you are, and have been at various times much
indebted to your generosity. It does not become me to take exception at
anything that girls may like to do."

He had the exasperating habit of treating kindness to himself with an
air of condescension, as if he conferred a favor by accepting benefits.
His smile of superiority hurt Mrs. Romaine.

"When you adopt that tone, Oliver, I hate you!" she cried.

"You are very impulsive, Rosy--in spite of your years," said Oliver,
with his usual quietness. "I assure you I do not wish to interfere; and
you must set it down to brotherly affection if I sometimes feel inclined
to wonder what you mean to do."

"To do?" she queried, looking round at him.

"Yes, to do. I don't understand you, that is all. Of course, it is not
necessary that I should understand."

Mrs. Romaine did not often change color, but she flushed scarlet now,
and was glad for a moment that the room was almost dark. Yet, as her
brother stood close to her, and the fire was sending up fitful flashes
of ruddy light, she felt certain, on reflection, that he had seen that
blush. This certainly imparted some humility to her voice as she spoke
again.

"You know, Oliver, that I always like you to approve of what I am doing.
I like you to understand. Of course, whatever I do, it is partly for
your sake."

"Is it?" said Oliver, with a laugh. "I shouldn't have thought it. As far
as I can judge, you have been very careful to please yourself all
through."

There was a little silence. Then she said, in a low tone,

"_How_ have I pleased myself, I should like to know?"

"Do you want a plain statement of facts? Well, my dear, you know them as
well as I do, though perhaps you do not know the light in which they
present themselves to me. We three, you and Francis and I, were left to
earn our own living at a somewhat early age. Francis became a banker's
clerk, and you took to literature and governessing and general
popularity. By a very clever stroke you managed to induce Professor
Romaine to marry you. He was fifty and you were twenty-four. You did
very well for yourself--twisted him round your little finger, and got
him to leave you all his money; but really I do not see how this could
be said to be for my sake."

"Then you are very ungrateful, Oliver. You were a boy of fourteen when I
married, and what would you ha