used to sit, to lay her horrible hands on HER things?" Adela was
appalled--all the more that she hadn't expected it--at her brother's
apparent acceptance of such a prospect.

He coloured; there was something in her passionate piety that
scorched him. She glared at him with tragic eyes--he might have
profaned an altar. "Oh I mean that nothing will come of it."

"Not if we do our duty," said Adela. And then as he looked as if he
hadn't an idea of what that could be: "You must speak to him--tell
him how we feel; that we shall never forgive him, that we can't
endure it."

"He'll think I'm cheeky," her brother returned, looking down at his
papers with his back to her and his hands in his pockets.

"Cheeky to plead for HER memory?"

"He'll say it's none of my business."

"Then you believe he'll do it?" cried the girl.

"Not a bit. Go to bed!"

"I'LL speak to him"--she had turned as pale as a young priestess.

"Don't cry out till you're hurt; wait till he speaks to YOU."

"He won't, he won't!" she declared. "He'll do it without telling
us."