"What do you want to fly off in that fashion for?" said Lydia. "I'll see about your portmanteau if this is all true--" Bertie assumed an insulted-gentleman air: it was extremely lofty: "Oh, if you doubt me, Miss Bryant--" "Gracious me! You _are_ touchy!" exclaimed poor Lydia in perplexity and distress. "Only one word: you haven't been doing anything bad?" "On my honor--no," said Bertie haughtily. "And there's nothing wrong about the portmanteau?" "Oh, this is too much!" Lisle exclaimed. "I can't be cross-questioned in this fashion--even by _you_." The careless parenthesis was not without effect. "Wrong about it--no! But we'll leave the subject altogether, if you please. I won't trouble you any further." It was evident to Lydia that he was offended. There was an angry light in his eyes and his cheeks were flushed. "You _are_ unkind," she said. "I'll see about it for you; and you knew I would." She saw Bertie's handsome face dimly through a mist of gathering tears. "Crying?" said Lisle. "Not for me, Lydia? I'm not worth it." "That I'll be bound you are not," said the girl. "Then why do you do it?" "Perhaps you think we always measure our tears, and mind we don't give over-weight," said Lydia scornfully. "Shouldn't cry much at that rate, I expect. I do it because I'm a fool, if you particularly want to know." Lisle was wondering what style of answer would be suitable and harmless when Mr. Fordham came up the stairs. Lydia saw him, exclaimed, "Oh my good gracious!" and vanished, while Bertie strolled into his room, invoking blessings on the old man's head. That evening there was a choir-practice at St. Sylvester's. Mr. Clifton was peculiarly tiresome, and the young organist replied with an air of easy scorn, the more irritating that it was so good-humored. Had the worthy incumbent been a shade less musical there would have been a quarrel then and there. But how could he part with a man who played so splendidly? Bertie received his instructions as to their next meeting with an unmoved face. "It is so important now that Easter is so near," said the clergyman. "Thursday evening, and you won't be late?" "Au revoir, then," said Lisle airily, "since we are to meet so soon." And with a pleasant smile he went his way. When he got back he found Judith at home, looking worn and white. He was tenderly reproachful. "I'm sure you want your tea," he said. "You should not have thought about me." He waited on her, he busied himself about her in a dozen little ways. He was bright, gay, affectionate. A faint color flushed her face and a smile dawned on her lips. How could she fail to be pleased and touched? How could she do otherwise than smile at this paragon of young brothers? He talked of holiday schemes in a happy though rather random fashion. He sang snatches of songs softly in his pleasant tenor voice. "Bertie, our mother used to sing that," said Judith after one of them. "Did she?" He paused. "I don't remember."