"There is no doubt," said Lady Joan, loudly, "that our sympathies or our antipathies make us sometimes imagine a likeness where it cannot exist. I remember when I was a small child and came to stay with my great-uncle here, I used to invent every kind of excuse for going down to the post-office, because I thought the boy behind the counter was like a cousin of mine I had a romantic admiration for at the time. And of course you know how there are some days when everybody in the street reminds you of some one you don't want to meet, and others when you feel you have not the least affinity to your own sister. The fact is, family likeness is all rubbish, like most of the traditions we have grown up with; I mean, there is just as much chance of two strangers being alike, which you have just proved yourself, Mr. Johnson, by supposing Mr. Raleigh and my little friend Norah to be brother and sister. Shall we go in, now, or would you like another turn round the garden?" The curate felt he had been sufficiently battered in that one brief stroll to the lake, and he consulted his watch and said he had some work waiting for him at home. So they came back again through the open window, and found Norah still lying on the couch, and the musician on the low chair at her side. "What a horrid little man," said Lady Joan, when the curate had left. "Is he?" said Norah, vaguely. "Oh, I don't think he's bad," said the musician, cheerfully. Their hostess made a huge effort, and preserved her smile. "It may be because I had to entertain him," she said, knitting busily at her large white shawl. "Why didn't you leave him alone?" they asked, with the sublime innocence of the selfish. "Because that was what you did," she replied. "Oh, but we thought you were getting on so well with him," said Norah. "Besides," added Digby, "you need not have asked him into the garden." "Perhaps I needn't," said Lady Joan, and counted her stitches. "I am so dreadfully worried about something," she said, presently. "What about?" they asked, feeling that it had somehow been the atmosphere of the whole day. "The dilapidation of my pig-styes; Jones says two of them will go on for some time, but the others want repairing. Now, is it worth while to have two repaired, or shall I wait until they all fall to pieces, and put up brick ones?" "That is a question," said Norah, gravely. The musician laughed heartily. "What a fuss ladies make about trifles. If you had a man to manage your affairs--" "But I haven't," she said quickly, and looked him full in the face; "I thought of getting one, but--it has fallen through."