black hair and palely dusky complexion, considered his brother's cheerful
countenance.

"I'm going to ask you not to go to the Days' in Queen Anne Street any more,
Reggie," he said.

Reggie widely stared. "I don't think my going there, when I wish, and they
ask me, can do any harm to any one," he protested.

"Sit down, will you?" his brother said, and pointed to the chair on the
other side of the table by which he sat.

"I think not, now. I think I'll be off. The ice mayn't keep--"

The other still pointed to the chair. "What I want to say to you won't
keep--emphatically. Sit down," he said, and down Reggie sat.

He was by no means embarrassed, or afraid. His brother had stood to him in
place of a father since his own father had died when he was a boy at
school, but he lectured him as little as possible, and very rarely thwarted
him. "Get over it as quick as you can, Francis," was all he said.

"Did you meet Mr. Day going away as you came in?"

"Mr. Day? No."

"He has just left me. He came to tell me that you," he looked during a
moment's pause in Reggie's wide eyes, "were engaged to be married to his
daughter."