Another fierce exclamation, a hurried dash across the room, a wondering little scream from Clara, across whose ample skirts her brother plunged, as he rushed half frantic away, ended this episode. Clara rose up, startled and nervous, to look after him--and I had to restrain myself from the same impulse; but Circe sat calm among her photographs, and made no sign. After a few moments’ interval Clara went tremulously after him. I could only settle myself on my chair again. The poor cripple boy--tenderest and merriest of the flock--whom all the rest had guarded so jealously!--they could do nothing for him now. He, too, like all the rest of us, had his burden to bear alone. But I sat on thorns, fearing to see Bertie, when he came upstairs, resume his flirtation with “that witch from the Rectory,” whom Maurice had so truly named. He did not, to my great satisfaction--but remained very quiet, refusing, great lion as he was, to roar--and looking as plaintive and pathetic as it was possible for Bertie’s honest face, unused to simulation of any kind, to look. I fancy the poor fellow imagined--a forlorn hope of that good, simple mind of his, which certainly was not original in its expedients--that Alice might possibly be influenced more favorably by his pitiful looks. Seeing this, I undertook a little management of that very refractory young person myself. “Alice, you will come to Hilfont on my birthday, as you have always done--won’t you?--that will be in a fortnight,” said I. “If you please, Mrs. Crofton,” said Alice, very demurely. “You know I please; but I don’t please that you should promise, and then send me such a clever, pretty, reasonable excuse when the time comes, that I cannot say a word against it, but only feel secretly that it is very unkind.” “Unkind! to _you_, Mrs. Crofton!” cried Alice, with a little blush and start. “To me--who else?--it is for _my_ birthday that I ask you to come,” said I, with an artful pretense of feeling offended; “but really, if you treat me as you have done before, I shall be disposed to believe there is _some reason_ why you refuse so steadily to come.” “You may be quite sure I will not stay away,” said Alice, with great state. She sat by me for half an hour longer, but we did not exchange a dozen words. She said “nothing to nobody” all the remainder of the evening; she looked just a little cross as well, if the truth must be told. CHAPTER XXIV. A fortnight after came my birthday, and a family festival.