olour-box and
sketch-book. Drawing was her great occupation, and she was now filling
in from memory a sketch of the toboggining party.

"You never come near me, Cecil, unless I send for you!" said Du Meresq,
complainingly.

"Poor Bertie! are you very much bored?" said she, without looking up from
her painting.

"Horribly; and my thoughts and occupations are none of the pleasantest."

"Those horrid duns again," glancing at some blue looking envelopes lying
near. "But you haven't opened one of them."

"Never do, nor answer them either. They keep up a pretty close
correspondence considering it is one-sided."

"Bertie," said Cecil, drawing on diligently, "Can't something be done?
You never seem to look into your affairs. Perhaps they wouldn't be so bad
if you did. I shall be of age in August, and," colouring slightly, "I
will lend you as much as you want. You can give me an I.O.U. for the
amount," continued she, rather proud of her knowledge of business.

"You dear, romantic girl" (Cecil was chilled in a moment), "how could I
take your money? I shouldn't have a chance of repaying it. No, I shall
last as long as I can, and then try the Colonies. It is only my rascally
self, after all, to think of. Thank goodness, I don't draw any delicate,
fragile life after me into privation and discomfort."

Cecil bent more closely over her drawing.

"What are you doing?" said Bertie, impatiently. "I can't see your face.
Come and sit by me, Cecil. I like a 'gentle hand in mine.'"

Cecil moved as if in a dream, and sat in a low chair near his couch.

"You have always been so kind and true to me," stroking her hair
caressingly.

A slight movement of the handle of the door made them involuntarily
separate, and Mrs. Rolleston entered.

"Cecil, your father is looking for you. He wants you to drive with him,
and call on the Learmonths."

"What an infernal bore!" said Du Meresq, energetically; "and I must lie
in this confounded room, with nothing to do the whole afternoon. Can't
you get out of it, Cecil?"

"No, no!" said Mrs. Rolleston, hastily meeting her daughter's eye. There
was unspoken sympathy between them. Her half eager look of inquiry passed
into intelligent acquiescence, and, with a regretful glance at Bertie,
she left the room.

The next day and the one after the Colonel required his daughter's
companionship; the third day, they all went out in the afternoon, as Du
Meresq seemed better, and said he had letters to wr