This was a constant source of grievance and friction between the eldest and youngest hope of the house. The poor boy had not many changes of raiment, and he being of an age to dabble in any mess that came handy without reference to his sister's olfactory nerves, there was no denying the fact that his little brown tunic, his worn little trousers had acquired a very _boyey_ smell. Unless under the protection of his mother's presence, therefore, he was often exiled to the kitchen to get his meals with Emily. He never went without protest and tears and often kicks, on his own part, and fisticuffs on Bessie's, who remained behind, after such encounters, flustered by victory, and ready to quarrel with any one on the spot. To-night, however, ignoring the presence of Deleah, she had intended to be very gracious to the boarder, who as ill-luck would have it did not come in to his supper at all. Under the discouraging influence of Bessie's silence conversation fell flat between Deleah and her mother. The meal over, Mrs. Day, more than, usually tired, announced her intention of going to bed, an example quickly followed by Bessie, who wished to avoid at that moment a _tête-à-tête_ with Deleah. It happened to-night, that as soon as mother and sister had gone, and before Deleah had finished clearing away the books and work and Franky's painting things, which had been in use earlier in the evening, the boarder came in. It was extraordinarily seldom that the Honourable Charles found himself alone with the younger daughter of the house--whether by chance, her management, or the management of others, he could not tell. Deleah Day, in her cotton frock of white with tiny black spots, a wide, embroidered collar tied with black ribbon at her throat, her black, thickly waving hair brushed behind her ears and gathered at the back of her small head, was an agreeable figure at the hearth to greet any poor worker on his return to rest and fireside. He did not want any supper, would have none. His appetite was poor of late, he came down in the mornings looking as if he had not slept all night. Business, now that his interest in it had increased, seemed to be making too great demands on his time and health. "You must smoke," Deleah said, and put the tobacco jar at his elbow. She always touched it with lingering fingers: it was that out of which William Day had been wont to fill his evening pipe. She placed by him the little decanter of whisky from which the boarder, by the admixture of lemon and hot water, would brew himself a nightcap. He appeared to ignore these preparations for his comfort. "I was just clearing away, before going to bed," she told him.