temper.”

For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, “Was my temper very bad?” she asked.

“I am not accusing you, Gertrude,” said Charlotte.

“What are you doing, then?” her sister demanded, with a short laugh.

“I am pleading for Mr. Brand—reminding you of all you owe him.”

“I have given it all back,” said Gertrude, still with her little laugh. “He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again.”

Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in the darkness, a sweet, reproachful gaze. “If you talk this way I shall almost believe it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he has always expected something of you. Think how much he has been to us. Think of his beautiful influence upon Clifford.”

“He is very good,” said Gertrude, looking at her sister. “I know he is very good. But he shouldn’t speak against Felix.”

“Felix is good,” Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. “Felix is very wonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to us. I should never think of going to Felix with a trouble—with a question. Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude.”

“He is very—very good,” Gertrude repeated. “He is more to you; yes, much more. Charlotte,” she added suddenly, “you are in love with him!”

“Oh, Gertrude!” cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing in the darkness.

Gertrude put her arm round her. “I wish he would marry you!” she went on.

Charlotte shook herself free. “You must not say such things!” she exclaimed, beneath her breath.

“You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows.”

“This is very cruel of you!” Charlotte Wentworth murmured.

But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. “Not if it’s true,” she answered. “I wish he would marry you.”

“Please don’t say that.”

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