“You silly boy! what are you doing to me? oh! you’ve tied a horrid thing to my pet curl; take it off directly, sir! But seriously, now, about Kate;--dearest Harry--do be sensible, please, and let me talk to you.” This exhortation was called forth by the fact of the incorrigible Coverdale having placed the pen-wiper--which was a sort of cross between a three-barrelled cocked hat and an improbable pyramid--on the top of his wife’s head, just where the cross-roads in the parting of her hair occurred. “Talk away, darling; I’m about as sensible as it’s at all likely you’ll ever find me,” was the reply. “‘Well, don’t you really and truly think it very shocking that such a girl as Kate--so clever and handsome, so unusually superior in every point--should throw herself away upon that silly old man, whom she cannot even respect?” rejoined Alice. “If I must speak the plain truth,” replied Harry, “I should say that a girl who could make such a sacrifice of her own free will isn’t worth pitying for it; she must be both mercenary and ambitious--serious faults in a man, but positive vices in a woman, because in yielding to them she is sinning against all the better instincts of her nature: for such a character I can feel no sympathy.” “But indeed, Harry, she is not such a dreadful heartless creature as you imagine her; at least, she never used to be. On the contrary, when we were all children together, she was rather high-flown and romantic. It was during the time that she was at school, and under the care of a horrid woman, a Miss Crofton--” “A Miss how much?” inquired Harry. “Miss Crofton.” “What was her Christian name?” continued Harry. “Arabella,” was the reply. “By Jove! did you ever see her? Was she a tall, dark-looking creature, with great flashing eyes like a gipsy’s?” “Yes, that is an exact description of her,” returned Alice, in surprise; “but why do you ask? What do you know of her?” “No good,” returned Harry, mysteriously, shaking his head; “but never mind, go on.” “I was only going to say that I feel sure Kate must have some better reason than a mere wish to become a great lady, to induce her to marry Mr. Crane. You know her father and mother are very poor, and she has several younger brothers and sisters; perhaps she wishes to help them.” “I dare say she does,” replied Harry, turning away to conceal a yawn; “nobody is all bad, any more than they are all the other thing. Characters are like zebras--alternate stripes of black and white; the only difference is, that in some one colour predominates, in some the other.” There was a pause, then in a lower voice Alice resumed-- “Harry, did it ever occur to you (of course, I do not want you to betray confidence even to me), but did you ever suspect that Arthur was attached to Kate?” “Never in my life,” was the unhesitating reply. “Arthur always laughed the tender passion, as he used to call it, to scorn.”