mit them to indulge in either to the fullest extent. There
was nothing in common between her and her sister, who, when at home
for the holidays, spent her time almost entirely with her brother, who
received but slight attention from anyone else, his deformity being
considered as a personal injury and affliction by his mother and elder
sister.

"You could not care less for him," Isobel once said, in a fit of
passion, "if he were a dog. I don't think you notice him more, not one
bit. He wanders about the house without anybody to give a thought to
him. I call it cruel, downright cruel."

"You are a wicked girl, Isobel," her mother said angrily, "a wicked,
violent girl, and I don't know what will become of you. It is abominable
of you to talk so, even if you are wicked enough to get into a passion.
What can we do for him that we don't do? What is the use of talking to
him when he never pays attention to what we say, and is always moping. I
am sure we get everything that we think will please him, and he goes out
for a walk with us every day; what could possibly be done more for him?"

"A great deal more might be done for him," Isobel burst out. "You might
love him, and that would be everything to him. I don't believe you and
Helena love him, not one bit, not one tiny scrap."

"Go up to your room, Isobel, and remain there for the rest of the day.
You are a very bad girl. I shall write to Miss Virtue about you; there
must be something very wrong in her management of you, or you would
never be so passionate and insolent as you are."

But Isobel had not stopped to hear the last part of the sentence, the
door had slammed behind her. She was not many minutes alone upstairs,
for Robert soon followed her up, for when she was at home he rarely left
her side, watching her every look and gesture with eyes as loving as
those of a dog, and happy to sit on the ground beside her, with his head
leaning against her, for hours together.

Mrs. Hannay kept her word and wrote to Miss Virtue, and the evening
after she returned to school Isobel was summoned to her room.

"I am sorry to say, I have a very bad account of you from your mother.
She says you are a passionate and wicked girl. How is it, dear; you are
not passionate here, and I certainly do not think you are wicked?"

"I can't help it when I am at home, Miss Virtue. I am sure I try to
be good, but they won't let me. They don't like me because I can't be
always tidy and what they