philosophy, but now it seemed inadequate and superficial, and Maggie
had begun to fear the violence of the storm she had brewed. She did
not mind stimulating ill-feeling, but she did not wish Sally to
provoke her father recklessly.

The possibility of his marrying again and having a second family was
the one restraining influence Mr. Brookes still retained over his
daughters, so Maggie, who was always keenly alive to the remotest
consequences of her actions, took care that his home never became
quite unbearable to him; and when Sally entered the room, dark and
brilliant in red velvet, and in no way disposed to admit she had been
guilty of heinous wrong in countermanding the dinner, Maggie attempted
a gentle pouring of oil on the waters. But waving aside her sister's
gentle interposition, she said: "You mustn't think of yourself only,
father. I admit I told the cook to put back the dinner a few minutes.
What then?"

"You did it that you might finish your conversation with young
Meason," said Mr. Brookes, but his words were weak, it being doubtful
if even Meason could add to the original offence, so culminating and
final did it seem to him.

"Maggie didn't tell you that last week she met him on the sea road,
and walked with him into Portslade."

"Father, father, I beg of you, now, don't cry; think of the servants."

And it was in such unity of mind and feeling that this family sat down
to dinner in the great dining-room, rich with all comforts and adorned
with pictures by Frith and Goodall. Sally, who unfortunately knew no