"But Miss Faith is not so old,--only five-and-thirty,--and she is still so sweet-looking." "My dear, we are speaking of mere looks, and ten years ago; most likely he has married and has half-a-dozen children by this time; and remember, they have never even met since. Perhaps he has grown stout and bald, those dark young men do get stout sometimes. I am a little cynical, but I cannot believe in such faithfulness as that. Men are such fickle creatures, my dear, 'out of sight is out of mind' with most of them." "Pray where did you learn those abominable sentiments?" asked her brother curtly, as he came up behind the girls, starting them into a muttered exclamation of dismay. How much had he overheard? how was it that his footsteps had gained upon them unperceived? Quick blushes burnt in the girls' faces. Garth shook off the raindrops and laughed mischievously; he was master of the situation, his love of teasing was paramount. "Girls are all alike. Fancy men talking to each other about their love affairs, and choosing a public thoroughfare for the tender confidence." "Garth, you are a monster, and I hate you," burst out Cathy, stamping her little foot at him. "Mr. Clayton is utterly mistaken," observed Queenie hotly; "we were only discussing other people's affairs. We are not often in such a gossiping mood, but Cathy was communicative, and I suppose I got interested." "Is it also your opinion that men are such fickle creatures? I thought that was Cathy's observation. She has known so many men, and has such a wide acquaintance with life. I should have thought Miss Titheridge and the dragon-guarded portals of Granite Lodge would have excluded the stronger and ruder sex, but perhaps I am mistaken." "Garth, when you are in this mood I detest you." "I cannot have you infecting Miss Marriott's mind with such heterodox notions; fickleness is all on the other side, take my word for it. I am sorry that I only overheard the last words, as Cathy's communications would doubtless have proved both novel and instructive; a schoolgirl's opinion on such points must be delicious. Cathy, my dear, if you can spare Miss Marriott one moment I have a word or two to say to her. Step into my den there, please, while I hang up my wet coat. I will be with you in a moment." Queenie obeyed him wonderingly. She had been in Garth's den before, Cathy had taken her, but she looked round it with fresh interest. There were the book-shelves he had made and stained himself, loaded with his favorite authors--Dickens, Thackeray, and Macaulay, "fine fellows all of them," he would say; and his writing-table with all its old bachelor's appurtenances,--the pipe-rack and red earthen tobacco-jar; and the worn easy-chair, the shabbiest and the most comfortable in the house. Opposite was the picture of his mother, a large faded oil-painting of a woman, not young, but with a sweet gentle face and Garth's blue-grey eyes.