"Oh, I thought it was Mr. Trent." "Does it not strike you that he comes here to see Lesley a great deal too often?" "Rubbish," cried Miss Brooke, pushing up her eyeglasses. "Why, he's engaged to Ethel Kenyon." "For all that," said Mr. Brooke, and then he paused for a moment. "Did it never strike _you_ that he was here very often?" "No," said Aunt Sophy, stolidly. "Haven't noticed. I suppose he comes to help Lesley with her singing. Good gracious, Caspar, the girl can take care of herself." "I dare say she can, but I don't want any trifling--or--or flirtation--to go on," said Brooke, rather sharply. "We are responsible for her, you know: we have to hand her over in good condition, mind and body, at the end of the twelve months. And if you can't look after her, I must get her a companion or something. I've been inclined to come up and play sheep-dog myself, sometimes, when I have heard them practising for an hour together just above my head." "If they disturb you, Caspar," began Miss Brooke, with real solicitude; but her brother did not allow her to finish her sentence. "No, no, they don't disturb me--in the way you mean. I confess I should feel more comfortable if I thought that somebody was with the two young people, to play propriety, and all that sort of thing." "I thought you were above such conventionalism," said Miss Brooke, glaring at him through her glasses from her lofty height upon the steps. "Not at all. Not where my daughter is concerned. Children teach their father very new and unexpected lessons, I find; and I don't look with equanimity on the prospect of Lesley's being made love to by Oliver Trent, or of her going back to her mother and telling her that she was left so much to her own devices. I am sure of one thing--that Lady Alice would not like it." "And am I to give up all my engagements for the sake of sitting with two silly young people?" said Miss Brooke, the very hair of her head seeming to bristle with horror at the idea. "By no means. I don't see that you need be always there; but be there sometimes; don't give occasion to the enemy," said Mr. Brooke; turning to go. "Who is the enemy?" said Doctor Sophy--a spiteful question, as she well knew. "The world," said Caspar Brooke, quite quietly: he did not choose to see the spitefulness. "Oh," said Miss Brooke. "I thought you meant your wife." But she did not dare to say this until he was well out of the room, and the door firmly closed behind him.