and at once saw that Georgina was
seriously roused. She put down her work and faced her sister.

"I thought it belonged to both of us," she said mildly. "What is the
matter, Georgie?"

"I beg you to remember that I am the tenant. And I never consented to
make it an institution for the training of imbeciles!"

"Georgie!--Arthur is not an imbecile!"

"Of course I know he is an interesting one," said Georgina, curtly. "But
all the same, from my point of view--However, I won't repeat the word, if
it annoys you. But what I want to know is, when are we to have the house
to ourselves again? Because, if this is to go on indefinitely, I depart!"

Cynthia came nearer to her sister. Her colour fluttered a little.

"Don't interfere just at present, Georgie," she said imploringly, in a
low voice.

The two sisters looked at each other--Georgina covered with the dust and
cobwebs of her own cottages, her battered hat a little on one side, and
her coat and skirt betraying at every seam its venerable antiquity; and
Cynthia, in pale grey, her rose-pink complexion answering to the gold of
her hair, with every detail of her summer dress as fresh and dainty as
the toil of her maid could make it.

"Well, I suppose--I understand," said Georgina, at last, in her gruffest
voice. "All the same, I warn you, I can't stand it much longer. I shall
be saying something rude to Buntingford."

"No, no--don't do that!"

"I haven't your motive--you see."

Cynthia coloured indignantly.

"If you think I'm only pretending to care for the child, Georgie, you're
very much mistaken!"

"I don't think so. You needn't put words into my mouth, or thoughts into
my head. All the same, Cynthia,--cut it short!"

And with that she released the door and departed, leaving an anxious and
meditative Cynthia behind her.

A little later, Buntingford's voice was heard below. Cynthia, descending,
found him with Arthur in his arms. The day had been hot and rainy--an
oppressive scirocco day--and the boy was languid and out of sorts. The
nurse advised his being carried up early to bed, and Buntingford had
arrived just in time.

When he came downstairs again, he found Cynthia in a garden hat, and they
strolled out to look at the water-garden which was the common hobby of
both the sisters. There, sitting among the rushes by the side of the
little dammed-up stream, he produced a letter from Mrs. Friend, with the
latest news of his ward.

"Evidently we shan't get