"Then," she said, "it is worse not to repent than to sin, and your condition is something dreadful. Now, my impression is that Mr. Crawford never thought of money at all when he married his wife. I believe he married her for pure love, and the fact of her being an invalid was a reason for his loving her all the more. To me he is a Bayard," cried this enthusiastic young person with flushing cheek, and eyes in which the gold glinted more than ever. "He's too stout, my dear," said the brother placidly from his couch. "What!" cried she indignantly. "Too stout to marry for love! You are outrageous!" "No; not to marry for love, but to be a Bayard. You know as well as I do our lodger would not cut a good figure on horseback," said the brother with calm decision. "You are intolerable, Alfred, and I will not speak to you again on the subject. Nothing could be in worse taste than what you have been saying," said the girl, gathering herself daintily together and looking away from him. "Besides, you do an injustice to our lodger." "I wish, Alfred, if you find it necessary to refer to Mr. Crawford, that you would do so in some other way than by calling him our lodger. It is not respectful." "Not respectful to whom?" "To me," with a very stately inclination of the gallant little head. "I see. Well, I will call him Mr. Bayard," said the brother with provoking amiability. "I am sure, Alfred, I do not know how you can be so silly." "Evil communications, my dear." "The gentleman's name is Crawford, and why should you not call him Crawford?" "Just to avoid the monotony." "And, I think, Alfred, to annoy me." "Perhaps." "Well, I must say that is very good-natured of you." "But I aim at an identical result." "I don't understand you." "To avoid monotony, too. You are always so good-humoured and soft-tempered it is a treat to see you ruffled and on your dignity. But there, Hetty dear, let us drop this light-comedy sparring----" "I'm sure I don't think it's light comedy at all, but downright disagreeableness; and I didn't begin it, and I don't want to keep it up, and I am sure you have a very clumsy and unkind notion of humour, if talking in that way is your idea of it." "Remember, Hetty," he said, holding up his hand in warning, "you are much too big a girl to cry. You are a great deal too old to cry." "A woman is never too old to cry--if she likes."