This time he ignored her. "It's all so difficult," he said in a new tone, as though embarking upon an analysis. "I know you're wanting just to please me, Ruth; you are an awfully good sort; you'll make somebody a splendid wife some day; but just because you are my sister, I suppose, I get annoyed when you begin asking whether you can come in and saying you don't want to if----" "You'd be much more annoyed if I came in without," said Ruth, with an unwonted spirit. Hubert rose to the attack. "You mean it's just my nature, and not you? I'd get annoyed whichever way it was? I'm just a selfish sort of cross-grained swine?" "I didn't say so, you _know_ I didn't; you're simply twisting my words round." Grown men and women, by some odd irony, are never nearer childhood than when in a temper. Hubert realised abruptly how ridiculous it was. Once more he dropped his voice and dragged the conversation with a wrench back to the point at issue. "I was only telling you," he said with dignity, "what Boyd said, as you asked to know. He said all this"--once more he waved his hand--"was a mistake, and that I ought to marry." He threw it out at her like a threat at a naughty child. She would not like it if he took her at her word and really turned her out. But even sisters can surprise a man. "Oh Hugh," she cried, forgetting all their differences, "do you mean you are really thinking----? Only, do let it be some one really nice, who'll make you as happy as you deserve to be." He was too flustered to feel touched. "But wouldn't you mind?" he asked; and in spite of his efforts, surprise appeared in it. "Mind?" She came across to him, sat on his chair-arm, and took his hand in hers. "How little you know me, old boy, really! Of course I shouldn't mind. You must never, never consider me at all! Do you imagine I expect you to remain a bachelor your whole life long, just to look after me? I shall find work to do or something; and anyhow, what is my life by the side of your career?" Hubert at moments felt a brute, and this was one of them. He knew that he should thank her, kiss her, yet he could do neither. He found himself wondering in a dazed, abstract way, as often in these past years, whether she was really genuine or whether it was just a woman's bluff to make him feel his shaft had fallen short. If she was quite sincere, he felt almost aggrieved. The end of their long life together seemed to mean so little to her.... "No," he said automatically, not realising how inadequate it was; and then, "Well, old girl, I really think perhaps _now_ I ought to work." He patted her hand in a perfunctory way as he released his own from it. "We've had our little chat and it's your bedtime, I am sure." "Yes," answered Ruth, and hesitated. "Hugh," she said presently, "aren't I to know who it is?" Her tone was more patient than aggrieved, but he read something of the other into it. "Who what is?" he replied, although he guessed her meaning.