n't know how long."

"There's a truly heroic brother!" exclaimed the young lady, as she
pulled Lionel into the little lobby and shut the door. "What's enough
for two is enough for three. Come along, Mr. Moore; and now you've got
safely into a house, I think you'd much better have Jim's room for the
night--or the morning, rather? I'm sure Jim won't mind taking the sofa."

"I? Not I!" said her brother, blowing out the candle as they entered the
lamp-lit room.

It was a pretty room, and, with its blazing fire, looked very warm and
snug after the cold, raw night without. Miss Burgoyne threw off her
cloak and hat, and set to work to supplement the supper that was already
laid on the central table. Her brother Jim--who was a dawdling,
good-natured-looking lad of about fifteen, clad in a marvellous costume
of cricketing trousers, a "blazer" of overpowering blue and yellow
stripes, and an Egyptian fez set far back on his forehead--helped her to
explore the contents of the cupboard; and very soon the three of them
were seated at a comfortable and most welcome little banquet. Indeed,
the charming little feast was almost sumptuous; insomuch that Lionel was
inclined to ask himself whether Miss Burgoyne, who was an astute young
lady, had not foreseen the possibility of this small supper-party before
leaving home in the afternoon. The ousters, for example: did Miss
Burgoyne order a dozen ousters for herself alone every evening?--for her
brother declared that he never touched, and would not touch, any such
thing. Lionel observed that his own photograph, which he had recently
given her, had been accorded the place of honor on the mantel-shelf;
another portrait of him, which she had bought, stood on the piano. But
why these trivial suspicions, when she was so kind and hospitable and
considerate? She pressed things on him; she herself filled up his
glass; she was as merry as possible, and talkative and good-humored.

"Just to think we've known each other so long, and you've never been in
my house before!" she said. "That's a portrait of my younger sister
you're looking at--isn't she pretty? It's a pastel--Miss Corkran's. Of
course she is not allowed to sit up for me; only Jim does that; he keeps
me company at supper-time, for I couldn't sit down all by myself, could
I, in the middle of the night? Oh, yes, you must have some more. I know
gentlemen are afraid of champagne in a house looked after by a woman;
but that's all right; that wa