made; the shaded lamp on the table before the sofa and the easy-chair
pleased him. He came often afterward, and stayed so long, sometimes,
that I fell asleep, and found him there, when I woke, still smoking
and watching the fire.

Veronica looked in at bed-time. "I recognize you here," she said as
she passed. But she came back in a few moments in a wrapper, with a
comb in her hand, and stood on the hearth combing her hair, which was
longer than a mermaid's. The fire was grateful to her, and I believe
that she was surprised at the fact.

"Why not have a fire in your room, Verry?"

"A fire would put me out. One belongs in this room, though. It is the
only reality here."

"What if I should say you provoke me, perverse girl?"

"What if you should?"

She gathered up her hair and shook it round her face, with the same
elfish look she wore when she pulled it over her eyes as a child. It
made me feel how much older I was.

"I do not say so, and I will not."

"I wish you would; I should like to hear something natural from you."

Fanny, coming in with an armful of wood, heard her. Instead of putting
it on the fire, she laid it on the hearth, and, sitting upon it with
an expression of enjoyment, looked at both of us with an expectant
air.

"You love mischief, Fanny," I said.

"Is it mischief for me to look at sisters that don't love each other?"
and, laughing shrilly, she pulled a stick from under her, and threw it
on the fire.

Veronica's eyes shot more sparks than the disturbed coals, for Fanny's
speech enraged her. Giving her head a toss, which swept her hair
behind her shoulders, she darted at Fanny, and picked her up from the
wood, with as much ease as if it had been her handkerchief, instead of
a girl nearly as heavy as herself. I started up.

"Sit still," she said to me, in her low, inflexible voice, holding
Fanny against the wall. "I must attend to this little demon. Do you
dare to think," addressing Fanny with a gentle vehemence, "that what
you have just said, is true of _me_? Are you, with your small, starved
spirit, equal to any judgment against _her?_ I admire her; you do,
too. I _love_ her, and I love you, you pitiful, ignorant brat."

Her strength gave way, and she let her go.

"All declarations in my behalf are made to third persons," I thought.

"I do believe, Miss Veronica," said Fanny, who did not express any
astonishment or resentment at the treatment she had received, "that
you are going t