“As soon as mamma is well enough to think of anything, Russell must go away.” “You are so prejudiced, Rosalind. It does not matter to me; it is a long time since I had anything to do with her,” said the boy, who was so conscious of being the heir. “But for the sake of the little ones I shall object to that.” “You!” cried Rosalind, with amazement. “You must remember,” said the boy, “that things are changed now. The mother, of course, will have it all in her hands (I suppose) for a time. But it is I who am the head. And when she knows that I object--” “Reginald,” his sister cried; “oh, how dare you speak so? What have you to do with it?--a boy at school.” A flush came over his face. He was half ashamed of himself, yet uplifted by his new honors. “I may be at school--and not--very old; but I am Trevanion of Highcourt now. I am the head of the family, whatever Uncle John may say.” Rosalind looked at her young brother for some time without saying anything, with an air of surprise. She said at last with a sigh, “You are very disappointing, Rex. I think most people are. One looks for something so different. I thought you would be sorry for mamma and think of her above everything, but it is of yourself you are thinking. Trevanion of Highcourt! I thought people had the decency to wait at least until-- Papa is in the house still,” she added, with an overflow of tears. At this Reginald, who was not without heart, felt a sudden constriction in his throat, and his eyes filled too. “I didn’t mean,” he said, faltering, “to forget papa.” Then, after a pause, he added, “Mamma, after all, won’t be so very much cut up, Rosie. He--bullied her awfully. I wouldn’t say a word, but he did, you know. And so I thought, perhaps, she might get over it--easier--”