Cyril was not so easily mollified.

'I would rather have my things badly done than see you slave in this
fashion,' he returned, with unwonted irritation. 'Mollie, does Miss Ross
know you do this sort of thing?'

'Oh yes, of course; I always tell Miss Ross everything.'

'She must have a pretty good opinion of us by this time,' in a vexed
voice.

'She knows it cannot be helped,' returned Mollie simply. 'She did say
one day that she was very sorry for me, when she saw how tired I
was--oh, she was so dear and sweet that day!--and once when I told her
how my back ached, and I could not help crying a little, she said she
would like to speak to mamma about me, but that she knew it was no
business of hers.'

'Anyhow, I shall make it my business,' returned her brother decidedly;
and he marched off to the drawing-room.

Mrs. Blake was sitting in the window, marking some of Kester's new
socks. She looked very cool and comfortable; the room was sweet with the
scent of flowers. The contrast between her and Mollie struck Cyril very
forcibly, and when his mother looked up at him with one of her caressing
smiles, he did not respond with his customary brightness.

'Mother, I want to talk to you about Mollie,' he said with unusual
abruptness, as he threw himself down in a cushioned chair opposite his
mother's little work-table.

'Yes, dear,' she returned tranquilly, pausing to admire an
exquisitely-worked initial.

'I found her in the kitchen just now, with her face the colour of a
peony, ironing out a lot of things. The place was like a furnace; I
could not have stood it for a quarter of an hour. Surely, mother, there
is no need for Mollie to slave in this way.'

'Do you call ironing a few fine things slavery?' replied Mrs. Blake in
an amused voice. 'In our great-grandmothers' time girls did more than
that. Mollie is not overworked, I assure you.'

'Then what makes her look so done up?'

'Oh, that is nothing! She is growing so fast, you know; and growing
girls have that look. Mollie is as strong as a horse, really--at her age
I was far weaker. Mollie is a good child, but she is a little given to
grumbling and making a fuss about trifles.'

'Oh, I don't agree with you there.'

'That is because you do not understand girls,' returned his mother
composedly. 'But you may safely leave Mollie to me. Am I likely to
overwork one of my own children? Should I be worthy of the name of
mother?'

'Yes, but you might not see your w