I begin to vaguely wonder whether, were I in Dora's place, all these delicate attentions would be showered upon me. I also try to decide whether, if I had been slighted by my beloved, I would publish the fact upon the house-tops and come down to the bosom of my family with scarlet eyes and pallid face and hair effectively loosened: or whether I would hide my sorrow with my life and endure all in heroic silence. I have got so far as the Spartan boy in my meditations, when Roland, bringing his fingers to meet upon the fleshy part of my arm, causes me to spring from my seat and give utterance to an emphatic "_Oh!_" while Cheekie, the fox-terrier, who is crouching in her favorite position at my feet, coming in for a full share of my weight, sets up a corresponding howl, and altogether the confusion is complete. When it has subsided there ensues an awful pause. Then papa speaks. "It would be waste of time to appeal to your better feelings, Phyllis: you _have none!_ But that you are hopelessly wanting in all delicacy of sentiment, you would understand that this is no time to indulge in a vulgar overflow of spirits. Do you not see how your sister is suffering? Your heartlessness is downright _disgusting_. Leave the room." I instantly avail myself of the permission to withdraw only too glad of the excuse, and retire, followed closely by Roland, who I can see is choking with suppressed laughter. "How could you do it?" I ask, reproachfully, as we gain the hall-door. "They are all angry enough as it is." "I could not help it," returns Roly, still struggling with his merriment; "the solemnity of the whole thing was too much for me. I knew I was going to laugh out loud, so pinched you to draw off attention." "I think you _might_ have chosen Billy." "He was too far off; you were the most convenient." "And so you sacrificed me to save yourself?" I exclaim, indignantly. Like all men, Roland is unutterably selfish; unlike all men, he is ever ready to make atonement, once the selfish act is accomplished. "Even so," he says now. "But look here, Phyllis: I'll make it up to you. Here's ten bob." And he tries to force the money into my unwilling hand. "No, keep it," I return, softened by the gift; "I can do without it, and I am sure you want it yourself." "I don't _really_," says Roland, looking fair into my eyes. "I have plenty--for a while; and you know you said yesterday you had spent your last penny. When you are Mrs. Carrington you can stand to me. Here: no nonsense: if you don't take it this moment, I'll chuck it into the pond." Thus threatened, I take it; and then together we stroll into the kitchen-garden, where Roland reduces his laughter-loving mind to order with the aid of the fragrant weed. CHAPTER XIII.