Bright sunshine streamed down out of a cloudless sky one afternoon
shortly after the ascent of the Pike. Vane stood talking with his sister
upon the terrace in front of the Dene. He leaned against the low wall,
frowning, for Lucy hitherto had avoided a discussion of the subject which
occupied their attention, and now, as he would have said, he could not
make her listen to reason.

She stood in front of him, with the point of her parasol pressed firmly
into the gravel and her lips set, though in her eyes there was a smile
which suggested forbearance. Lucy was tall and spare of figure; a year
younger than her brother; and of somewhat determined and essentially
practical character. She earned her living in a northern manufacturing
town by lecturing on domestic economy, for the public authorities. Vane
understood that she also received a small stipend as secretary to some
women's organization and that she took a part in suffrage propaganda. She
had a thin, forceful face, seldom characterized by repose.

"After all," Vane broke out, "what I'm urging is a very natural thing. I
don't like to think of your being forced to work as you are doing, and
I've tried to show you that it wouldn't cost me any self-denial to make
you an allowance. There's no reason why you should be at the beck and
call of those committees any longer."

Lucy's smile grew plainer.

"I don't think that quite describes my position."

"It's possible," Vane agreed with a trace of dryness. "No doubt, you
insist that the chairman or lady president give way to you; but this
doesn't affect the question. You have to work, anyway."