"Did I say that?" cried Tim. "Then I must have meant it when I said
it. To-night I have learned better, Mary, but you know I never saw you
standing that way before--on the stairs above me--kind of like an angel
with a halo----"

"Indeed!" retorted Mary; "but we women of Black Log deck ourselves out
in gaudy finery, Mr. Tim, I believe. We women of Black Log do not
inspire a man, like your Edith."

"Confound my Edith!" Tim exclaimed hotly. "Why, Mary, can't you see I
was joking? The idea of comparing Edith with you--why, Mary----"

Tim in his protest started to mount the stairs, and there was an
earnestness in his tone that made me think it high time he knew our
secret, for his own sake and for Edith's. It seemed to me unfair of
him to desert her so basely in the presence of an enemy. He should
have stood by her to the very end, and had he boldly declared that as
compared to her Mary was a mummy I should have admired him the more; I
should have understood; I should have known he was mistaken, but
endured it. Now I seized him by the coat and pulled him back.

"Tim," I said solemnly, "I have something to tell you."

My brother turned and gave me a startled look.

"Mary and I have something to tell you," I went on.

That should have given him a clew. I had expected that at this point
he would embrace me. But he didn't.