"Your brother has, by his own act and deed"--that sounded legal and therefore businesslike, so Doris repeated it--"by his own act and deed, forfeited his claim to you. Instead of honouring you, as I honour you, darling"--she caught up Alice’s hand and kissed it--"for your bravery and cleverness and industry, he has actually dared to blame you in most unwarrantable, most uncalled-for language, and in the presence of a third person--which makes his conduct far more heinous----" "Isn’t that a little strong?" interposed Alice. "Doris, I love you for your love, but you must remember he is my brother. He has a right to say what he likes to me, for I am his sister, and--and I cannot bear even you to blame him." "I beg to apologise!" said Doris, instantly. "It isn’t right of me to speak against him to you. And, now I think of it, I was wrong in ordering him out of our--your--garret----" "Well, yes, dear, a little----" "I was wrong," said Doris, "and perhaps one day I will apologise. But however wrong I was, that does not make him right. He has behaved abominably." "Now, there you are again! You must not blame him to me, dear." "I beg your pardon!" Then Doris was silent a minute or two. It was hard to be pulled up at every point. Still, Alice was right, therefore her sense of justice caused her to refrain from taking offence. "But, Alice," she said, at length, "the fact remains, that he will not consent for you to remain in his house if you carry on your work here." "He is an autocrat!" Alice burst out. "A martinet! A tyrant! I must carry on my work. I must. I have nothing else to sell. I have nothing else to do. Either I must continue what I am doing, or we must starve, or go into the workhouse. We cannot live on air." She paused, breathless. It was like her fervent, inconsequent way of reasoning to speak so strongly against her brother, whom she had just been chiding Doris for blaming. However, we are all apt to say things about our relations which we would not tolerate from other people. It is like blaming ourselves, or hearing others blame us. A man may call himself most foolish, yet if any one else were to say so it would be unpardonable. Doris was silent, and in that she showed wisdom. Left to herself, Alice would say all that Doris had been about to utter, and would act upon it as the latter wished her to do. "I cannot return to his house," said Alice, with a little sob. "He has indeed turned me out; for I cannot give up my means of livelihood. Who will give me an income if I throw away the one I have? No one. No one. The world is a world of adamant to those who have no coin." "It is indeed!" said Doris, tears filling her eyes as she thought of her own struggles. "But where shall I live?" continued Alice. "Will you let me live with you, Doris?" "Yes, darling, of course I will! I love you, darling, as you know; and we will live together, and be like sisters--only--only perhaps----" "Perhaps what?"