even to
Sark.'

This letter was written, and in a few days there came a reply.

'Why, the fellow has written to you as well!' exclaimed Jasper, taking
up a second letter; both were on the table of their sitting-room when
they came to their lodgings for lunch. 'That's his hand.'

'It looks like it.'

Dora hummed an air as she regarded the envelope, then she took it away
with her to her room upstairs.

'What had he to say?' Jasper inquired, when she came down again and
seated herself at the table.

'Oh, a friendly letter. What does he say to you?'

Dora had never looked so animated and fresh of colour since leaving
London; her brother remarked this, and was glad to think that the air of
the Channel should be doing her so much good. He read Whelpdale's letter
aloud; it was facetious, but oddly respectful.

'The reverence that fellow has for me is astonishing,' he observed with
a laugh. 'The queer thing is, it increases the better he knows me.'

Dora laughed for five minutes.

'Oh, what a splendid epigram!' she exclaimed. 'It is indeed a queer
thing, Jasper! Did you mean that to be a good joke, or was it better
still by coming out unintentionally?'

'You are in remarkable spirits, old girl. By-the-by, would you mind
letting me see that letter of yours?'

He held out his hand.

'I left it upstairs,' Dora replied carelessly.

'Rather presumptuous in him, it seems to me.'

'Oh, he writes quite as respectfully to me as he does to you,' she
returned, with a peculiar smile.

'But what business has he to write at all? It's confounded impertinence,
now I come to think of it. I shall give him a hint to remember his
position.'

Dora could not be quite sure whether he spoke seriously or not. As both
of them had begun to eat with an excellent appetite, a few moments were
allowed to pass before the girl again spoke.

'His position is as good as ours,' she said at length.

'As good as ours? The "sub." of a paltry rag like Chit-Chat, and
assistant to a literary agency!'

'He makes considerably more money than we do.'

'Money! What's money?'

Dora was again mirthful.

'Oh, of course money is nothing! We write for honour and glory. Don't
forget to insist on that when you reprove Mr Whelpdale; no doubt it will
impress him.'

Late in the evening of that day, when the brother and sister had
strolled by moonlight up to the windmill which occupies the highest
point of Sark, and as they stood looking upon the pale