“It is like you,” said Johnnie, admiringly, “to put yourself aside so as to indulge your sister. It is exactly what one might expect from you; but perhaps in happier circumstances, when you feel a little more interest in these secondary matters----” “Do you think she takes too much upon her?” asked Matilda, quickly. “Oh, you need not be afraid to speak! She is my sister, to be sure, but we have been separated so much, and I quite know Verna’s faults. It is quite her way to take too much upon her. If you think she is setting herself up as the lady of the house, or anything like that, I shall put a stop to it at once.” This put Johnnie into an unfortunate position, for he could not allow it to be supposed that he was finding fault with Verna, or undermining her with her sister. He said hastily: “Oh, no, I had no such meaning. I thought perhaps--if you were to exercise your own judgment you would be kind to the old house. We are fond of all traces of antiquity here; and I have a special love for those old gables, and the roofless walls, and narrow windows--” “Ah!” said Mrs. Charles, archly, “we know why that is. Because you were so fond of the old family. And of course Marjory was devoted to all that old stuff.” “No, indeed!” said Hepburn, blushing and stumbling in his words; “indeed you misunderstand me. I admire the ruin for itself, and I like it for its associations, without--Of course I have the highest respect for Miss Heriot.” “Oh yes, indeed--the highest respect! I like that!” said Mrs. Charles. “I wonder what Marjory would say if she heard you? Oh, yes, even if you did not blush and look so conscious, we have heard all about it, Mr. Hepburn. When is it to be? And I wonder if she likes you being here so much? If I were in her place I shouldn’t, I tell you frankly. If I were in her place----” “Pray don’t speak so,” cried poor Hepburn, really distressed. “I am not so fortunate as to be able to hope that Miss Heriot takes any interest in what I do. Very much the reverse. She has always been like the moon and the stars, quite above my sphere.” “Oh, you are a great deal too humble,” said Matilda, quite excited with this congenial subject, “but you ought not to come here so much if you want to please Marjory. I am sure she hates _me_. That sort of superior solemn kind of woman always hates us little things. Perhaps because the gentlemen like us,” Mrs. Charles added, with a momentary giggle. Then remembering her _rôle_, “Dear, dear,” she said, with a sigh, “to think I should talk such nonsense! as if what gentlemen thought mattered any more to me.” Hepburn could not but press gently to his side the soft little hand that rested on his arm. How charming her simplicity was, her naturalness, the light-heartedness of her youth cropping up in spite of her grief! “I hope, however,” he said, “that you do not think us quite unworthy of consideration--for that would be hard, very hard upon us.”