Miss Cherry lingered a little after she had sent Cara to bed. She wanted to look over the end of that novel, and the fire was too good to be left, John having imprudently heaped on coals at a late hour. Before she opened the book she paused to think that if it had not been Oswald, she almost wished that it had been Edward; but it was Cara, of course, who must choose. She had not read much more than a page, however, when her studies were disturbed. Her brother came suddenly into the room, in his slippers, a carelessness of toilette which was quite unusual to him. He came in making her start, and poked the fire with a sort of violence without saying anything. Then he turned his back to the mantelpiece, and gave a glance round the room, in all its dim perfections, and sighed. ‘Cherry,’ he said, ‘if you are not busy, I should like to ask you a question. I came upstairs a little while ago, but you were too much occupied to notice me.’ ‘James! indeed, I never saw you.’ ‘I know you did not. I did not mean to blame anyone. Tell me what you meant the other morning, when you advised me to stay at home after dinner--not to leave Cara? Was it for Cara’s sake?’ ‘Cara was lonely, James; she has never--been used--to be left alone.’ ‘Was it for Cara’s sake?’ ‘Oh, James,’ said Miss Cherry, faltering, ‘don’t think I wish to interfere! You are more able to judge than I am. It is not my place to make any remarks upon what you do.’ ‘Cherry, don’t evade the question; why did you speak to me so? Was it entirely for Cara’s sake?’ Miss Cherry grew red and grew white. She clasped her hands together in unconscious supplication. ‘I must say what I think if I say anything, James. It was a little for--dear Mrs. Meredith too. One must think of her as well. Her husband is a long way off; she is a very kind woman--kindness itself. Even if she thought you came too often, she would not like to say anything. Women understand women, James. She would say to herself, that to send you away would hurt your feelings, and she would rather bear a little annoyance herself.’ ‘Do you mean to say she has had any annoyance on my account?’ ‘She might have, James dear. She has not taken me into her confidence; but people talk. I suppose if she was a widow and you could--marry----’ ‘Charity!’ He had scarcely ever called her by that formal name before, and Miss Cherry was frightened. ‘Oh!’ she cried, once more clasping her hands. ‘Do not punish me for it! It is not my fault. I know better, for I know you both; but people will say so; and you should deny yourself for her sake.’ ‘Does _she_ wish it?’ he said hoarsely. It took him a strenuous effort to keep down his fury; but indeed there was no one to assail. ‘She would not wish anything for herself; it would be her nature to think of you first,’ said Miss Cherry. ‘It is not what she wishes, but what you, me, everybody, ought to wish for her, James.’