"

"Never fear," smiled Flora; "I promise you that there shall be no
debates at my table."

Ethel felt the force of the pronoun, and, as Flora walked out of the
room, she went up to Norman, who had been resting his brow against the
window.

"It is vain to argue with her," she said; "but, Norman, do not you think
it is clearly wrong to seek after men who desert and deny--"

She stopped short, frightened at his pale look.

He spoke in a low clear tone that seemed to thrill her with a sort of
alarm. "If the secrets of men's hearts were probed, who could cast the
first stone?"

"I don't want to cast stones," she began; but he made a gesture as if he
would not hear, and, at the same moment, Mr. Ogilvie entered the room.

Had Ethel been at home, she would have pondered much over her brother's
meaning--here she had no leisure. Not only was she fully occupied with
the new scenes around her, but her Scottish cousin took up every moment
open to conversation. He was older than Norman, and had just taken
his degree, and he talked with that superior aplomb, which a few years
bestow at their time of life, without conceit, but more hopeful and
ambitious, and with higher spirits than his cousin.

Though industrious and distinguished, he had not avoided society or
amusement, was a great cricketer and tennis-player, one of the "eight"
whose success in the boat races was one of Norman's prime interests,
and he told stories of frolics that reminded Ethel of her father's old
Cambridge adventures.

He was a new variety in her eyes, and entertained her greatly. Where the
bounds of banter ended, was not easy to define, but whenever he tried
a little mystification, she either entered merrily into the humour, or
threw it over with keen wit that he kept constantly on the stretch. They
were always discovering odd, unexpected bits of knowledge in each other,
and a great deal more accordance in views and opinions than appealed on
the surface, for his enthusiasm usually veiled itself in persiflage on
hers, though he was too good and serious to carry it too far.

At Blenheim, perhaps he thought he had given an overdose of nonsense,
and made her believe, as Meta really did, that the Duchess Sarah was
his model woman; for as they walked in the park in search of Phoebe
Mayflower's well, he gathered a fern leaf, to show her the Glenbracken
badge, and talked to her of his home, his mother, and his sister
Marjorie, and the little church in the r