"I am very glad, my dear Mary! Henry Bolter was always, I remember, fond of new bread. We used to call him Hot-roll Bolter at college." "Arthur!" "Yes, my dear Mary." "I really am thankful that you never married! You would have worried any reasonable woman into her grave!" "I am very sorry. I hope not, my dear Mary! I think if I had ever seen any lady I should have liked to call my wife, my whole study would have been to make her happy!" "Yes, yes, my dear Arthur!" said the little petulant lady, placing her hands upon her tall, thin brother's shoulders once more to pull him down to be kissed, "I know you would; but you are so tiresome." "I'm--I'm afraid I am, my dear Mary. I think sometimes that I must be very stupid." "Nonsense, Arthur; you are not. You are one of the best and cleverest of men; but you do get so lost in your studies that you forget all ordinary troubles of life. Why, there, actually you have come down this morning without any shirt-collar." "Have I? Have I, Mary?" said the Reverend Arthur, looking hastily in a glass. "How very foolish of me! I was anxious to get down, I suppose." "What we are to do for dinner I don't know!" exclaimed Miss Mary. "The butcher won't kill till the day after to-morrow." "Chickens," suggested her brother. "You can't feed men always on chickens, Arthur." "No, no, my dear; but Henry Bolter has been a great deal in the East; and you might do a deal with chickens." "Oh, I know, Arthur," said the little lady, pettishly. "Roast and boiled." "And curried! Bolter is sure to like curry." "And then grumble at it, and say it is not as good as he gets abroad. You never have anything in the garden either!" "I have some very fine asparagus, my dear Mary." "Ah, well, that's something." "And some forced rhubarb." "I could use that too. But really it is too bad to take one so by surprise. Men are so unreasonable!" The Reverend Arthur Rosebury took a turn or two up and down the room, with a troubled look in his face, ending by stopping short before his sister. "I--I am very sorry, my dear Mary," he said. "Can I help you a little?" "What by getting in the way, Arthur?" said the little lady, pettishly. "Nonsense! stuff!" He smoothed his long, thin, closely-shaven face with one hand, gazing pensively at his sister. "I--I used to be very fond of Henry Bolter," he said, in a hesitating way. "Why?" she said sharply. "I don't believe in these very warm friendships between men!" "It was when our father died, Mary, more than twenty years ago; and for want of a hundred pounds I thought I should have to leave college." "Yes?" said the little lady, sharply. "Henry Bolter found it out, and he forced the money into my hand." "He did?" "Yes, my dear Mary, and he never would let me pay it back again." "But didn't you try, Arthur?" "Four times over, my dear Mary; but he always sent the money back to me in a letter with only one word in it." "And what was that?"