s, Edgar Charrington had had
close claim on her sympathy.

"He was your brother, my dear," he said dryly. "I suppose the poor
fellow would not have died if he could have helped it. We have not seen
anything of him for a long time, but he used to be a most attractive
fellow. I thought he would have made his mark. Never met a man with so
many gifts--painting, music, writing; he used to take them up in turn,
and do equally well in each."

"But excel in nothing! That was the undoing of Edgar; he had not the
application to keep to one thing at a time, but must always be flying
off to something new. That disastrous marriage was like a millstone
round his neck, and practically doomed him to failure. Oh, I know what
you are going to say. There was nothing against Elma; and you admired
her, of course, because she was pretty and helpless; but I shall always
maintain that it was practically suicide for Edgar, with his Bohemian
nature, to many a penniless girl, with no influence to help him on in
the world. How they have managed to live at all I can't imagine. He
never confided in me, and I made a point of not inquiring. To tell the
truth, I lived in dread of his wanting to borrow money, and one has
enough to do with one's own claims. I think he was offended because we
never invited the children, for I have scarcely heard from him for the
last five years. Really, it was too great an experiment I can't imagine
what they must be like, brought up in that little village, with next to
no education. Social savages, I should say."

"How many children were there? I've forgotten how they come after the
first two. Stephen and Philippa visited us once long ago, and I
remember thinking her an uncommonly handsome child, with a spirit of her
own, which will probably stand her in good stead now. The boy was not
so interesting. How many are there besides these two?"

"Oh, I don't know. Dozens! There was always a baby, I remember,"
returned Mrs Loftus impatiently. "Goodness knows what is to become of
them now that they are left orphans, with practically no means of
support. Stephen seems quite bewildered with the responsibility. He
says he is anxious to see us, as his father's nearest relations, and to
consult with us as to the future. I think we had better decline all
responsibility. It is a thankless task to interfere with other people's
business, and young folks are so opinionated. I shall write a letter of
sympathy