flected tenfold by the plate about it and
the mahogany beneath it, though its single wick cast but a feeble light
into the large, dimly shadowed room. Ida danced off to the big central
lamp, but Clara put her hand upon her arm. "I rather like this quiet
light," said she. "Why should we not have a chat?" She sat in the
Doctor's large red plush chair, and her sister cuddled down upon the
footstool at her feet, glancing up at her elder with a smile upon her
lips and a mischievous gleam in her eyes. There was a shade of anxiety
in Clara's face, which cleared away as she gazed into her sister's frank
blue eyes.

"Have you anything to tell me, dear?" she asked.

Ida gave a little pout and shrug to her shoulder. "The Solicitor-General
then opened the case for the prosecution," said she. "You are going to
cross-examine me, Clara, so don't deny it. I do wish you would have that
grey satin foulard of yours done up. With a little trimming and a new
white vest it would look as good as new, and it is really very dowdy."

"You were quite late upon the lawn," said the inexorable Clara.

"Yes, I was rather. So were you. Have you anything to tell me?" She
broke away into her merry musical laugh.

"I was chatting with Mr. Westmacott."

"And I was chatting with Mr. Denver. By the way, Clara, now tell me
truly, what do you think of Mr. Denver? Do you like him? Honestly now!"

"I like him very much indeed. I think that he is one of the most
gentlemanly, modest, manly young men that I have ever known. So now,
dear, have you nothing to tell me?" Clara smoothed down her sister's
golden hair with a motherly gesture, and stooped her face to catch the
expected confidence. She could wish nothing better than that Ida should
be the wife of Harold Denver, and from the words which she had overheard
as they left the lawn that evening, she could not doubt that there was
some understanding between them.

But there came no confession from Ida. Only the same mischievous smile
and amused gleam in her deep blue eyes.

"That grey foulard dress----" she began.

"Oh, you little tease! Come now, I will ask you what you have just asked
me. Do you like Harold Denver?"

"Oh, he's a darling!"

"Ida!"

"Well, you asked me. That's what I think of him. And now, you dear old
inquisitive, you will get nothing more out of me; so you must wait and
not be too curious. I'm going off to see what papa is doing." She sprang
to her feet, threw her arms round her