gentle remonstrance against Verna’s energetic measures. “I hear that there are to be several changes,” he said, timidly. “Miss Bassett has been telling me about a new wing.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Charles. “That is Verna’s way. She always likes to be pulling things about. I declare I think she was quite pleased to see that ugly old ruin, that she might pull it down and make everything tidy. It is a fancy she has.” “But--do you think the old house--ugly?” said Hepburn, still more timidly. Mrs. Charles was leaning on his arm; she was looking up at him with those pretty blue eyes, into which tears were ready to come at a moment’s notice--a sweet dependent creature, seeking support and sympathy. Johnnie Hepburn knew a great deal better on this point than she did. Had the old house of Pitcomlie been his, he would have worshipped every stone of it. He knew all its associations, historical and otherwise, to the family; but yet he dared go no further than to ask humbly whether she too thought it--ugly? His mental servility was such that, if Matilda had said “Yes,” boldly, no doubt he would have acquiesced. “Well, isn’t it?” said Matilda, with a momentary feeling that she might be committing herself. “Verna thinks so, I’m sure. And then it is of no use; and what is the good of keeping an old place without a roof, or windows, or anything, full of rats, and I daresay snakes, and all sorts of creatures. That is what I hate about ruins. I suppose there are no scorpions in this country?” “No, nor snakes either,” said Hepburn, relieved. “I see now why you dislike it. There is nothing of the kind indeed; and old Mr. Charles Heriot used to keep the ruins in capital order. The old house has so many associations, you know--to the family.” “Oh yes, to the old family, I daresay,” said Matilda; “but I don’t know anything about their mouldy old ancestors. Verna has such a pretty plan that she drew herself--a beautiful long drawing-room, with a nice range of windows opening into the garden, and those new ribbon flower-beds that are so pretty, just like the border of a shawl, close under them. You must see the plan. Verna has quite a genius for that sort of thing, and she says it would give such character to the house.” “But then Miss Bassett is not the lady of the house,” said Hepburn. “She cannot feel as you do, who are the representative of the Heriots. Of course she does not care about the associations as you must do.” “Oh no; she can’t do anything at all unless I like it,” said Matilda, “of course. I let her do a great many things, because she likes fuss and bustle, and I don’t. I let her manage the servants, and order the dinner, and all that. But of course it is only because she is my sister. She has no power over anything unless I say she may have it. Everybody must know that.”