"Of course I could"; and Doris skilfully threw a hurt tone in her
voice, which Dudley was quick to detect.

"I wanted to walk," was all Ethel said, as she moved away to take off
her hat and coat.

But in spite of her efforts the gaiety did not return, and Doris grew a
little pensive and sad.

Dudley, with his surface reasoning, saw in her attitude something that
suggested the other two were in the habit of being entirely wrapped up
in each other, to the exclusion of the young sister.

Ethel might be a remarkably clever and capable woman; he knew perfectly
well that she was just as able with her fingers as her brain, and did
nearly all the upholstering and dressmaking of the household in her
evening free time; but wasn't she just a little superior and
self-satisfied also - just a little unkindly indifferent to the
monotony and dulness of her young sister's existence?

Dudley found his sympathy go out more and more to those childlike eyes,
and the pretty, clinging ways; and a sort of half-fledged resentment
grew up against the elder sister. He could not choose but admire her,
if it were only for her devotion to her brother, but he felt a vague
something, in his thoughts of her, that he could not express, and
remained grave.

Ethel, watching them both covertly while she moved about helping Doris
to clear away the dinner things, guessed at much that was passing in