"Only one word: you haven't been doing anything bad?"

"On my honor--no," said Bertie haughtily.

"And there's nothing wrong about the portmanteau?"

"Oh, this is too much!" Lisle exclaimed. "I can't be cross-questioned in
this fashion--even by _you_." The careless parenthesis was not without
effect. "Wrong about it--no! But we'll leave the subject altogether, if
you please. I won't trouble you any further."

It was evident to Lydia that he was offended. There was an angry light in
his eyes and his cheeks were flushed. "You _are_ unkind," she said. "I'll
see about it for you; and you knew I would." She saw Bertie's handsome
face dimly through a mist of gathering tears.

"Crying?" said Lisle. "Not for me, Lydia? I'm not worth it."

"That I'll be bound you are not," said the girl.

"Then why do you do it?"

"Perhaps you think we always measure our tears, and mind we don't give
over-weight," said Lydia scornfully. "Shouldn't cry much at that rate, I
expect. I do it because I'm a fool, if you particularly want to know."

Lisle was wondering what style of answer would be suitable and harmless
when Mr. Fordham came up the stairs. Lydia saw him, exclaimed, "Oh my
good gracious!" and vanished, while Bertie strolled into his room,
invoking blessings on the old man's head.

That evening there was a choir-practice at St. Sylvester's. Mr. Clifton
was peculiarly tiresome, and the young organist replied with an air of
easy scorn, the more irritating that it was so good-humored. Had the
worthy incumbent been a shade less musical there would have been a quarrel
then and there. But how could he part with a man who played so splendidly?
Bertie received his instructions as to their next meeting with an unmoved
face. "It is so important now that Easter is so near," said the clergyman.
"Thursday evening, and you won't be late?"

"Au revoir, then," said Lisle airily, "since we are to meet so soon." And
with a pleasant smile he went his way.

When he got back he found Judith at home, looking worn and white. He was
tenderly reproachful. "I'm sure you want your tea," he said. "You should
not have thought about me." He waited on her, he busied himself about her
in a dozen little ways. He was bright, gay, affectionate. A faint color
flushed her face and a smile dawned on her lips. How could she fail to be
pleased and touched? How could she do otherwise than smile at this paragon
of young brothers? He talked of holiday schemes in a hap