“We’ll both go into the library,” said she in a sort of studied calm, “I heard them go in after dinner and they think I’m sick and don’t eat enough if I’m white. Come on quick, now, while I’m red.” Dacre came near and looked into her face with some curiosity. “You’re madder to-night than I ever saw you,” he observed. “You can go, you will if you want to, of course,—I’ll not, not if I knows it.” “If you don’t I’ll do all I possibly can to keep you at home.” That and her look were decisive. He followed her with an angry snort, and they went swiftly down the low, broad oak stairs with their winding curved balustrade, down through the softly-carpeted corridors. When they reached the library door they stood with one accord, stock-still. “You’re whiter than ever,” said he. “Wipe your nose, you’ve rubbed the black all over it instead of off it. Am I red now?” “You’re magenta.” “Come on then.” When the door opened slowly and showed both their children standing in the soft glow of the lamps, Mr. and Mrs. Waring started up in some dismay. “Is anything wrong, my dears? Are you ill?” cried Mr. Waring, while his wife came forward nervously and peered anxiously from head to foot of the two. By this time even Gwen’s courage had waned and the old feeling of having come to judgment was fast gaining on her. Dacre was already a flaccid lump. “You appear well, dears,” said Mrs. Waring relieved, raising herself from her inspection, “and Gwen’s colour seems to me to be healthier than usual.” Gwen felt smothered and speechless but she made a vehement effort and got out in an appealing hushed kind of way, “We are quite well, mother, but we came to see you, we thought you might have time to talk to us and let us stay a little, we have been good at our lessons so long.” The child lifted her eyes as she spoke, and turned them hungrily from father to mother in a way that sensibly embarrassed them. Mr. Waring took his finger from between the pages of a book, came forward, and looked searchingly into his child’s face and then at his wife, who seemed too astonished to take any active part in the proceedings. “Will you not sit down?” he said politely, pulling a couple of chairs towards the pair, “pray sit down.—You have no objection, dearest, have you?” “No, oh no, I am very pleased indeed, and it is also very pleasant to hear you are advancing in your studies,” said Mrs. Waring rather supinely. There seemed so very little one could say to one’s children. Mrs. Waring passed her small hand across her brow, and tried to look unpreoccupied, but it was hard not to show feeling when a valuable train of thought was broken, and hours of good work rendered null and void by this unfortunate intrusion. Her husband felt keenly for the gentle little woman, and naturally a slight feeling of irritation smote him as he turned his gaze on his inconvenient offspring who bore it in stolid silence.