"And in that thin dress, too!" he remonstrated; "you ought to take better care of yourself, Beatrix." Beatrix looked up at him half grateful and half laughing. She wished she were not grown up, and she might ask him to chafe her cold hands as he used to do when she was a little girl. She remembered even now the comforting warmth of those strong, brown hands. "Never mind, one day he will be my brother, and that will be nice," thought Beatrix to herself. "I wish he and Dorrie would settle it quickly between themselves, and then there will be no more cold school-rooms." Garth did not find another opportunity to exchange a word with Dora that night. The girls played some duets, and their sister turned the pages of their music for them, and left her father to entertain their visitor. Nevertheless, the sense of her displeasure pervaded the atmosphere somehow, and drove all comfort from him. When he said good night to her, she gave him a very fleeting pressure of the fingers, and scarcely lifted her eyes to his, but her mouth looked a little scornful. But it was not Garth this time that passed a sleepless night. When Dora brushed out her golden hair a pale, set face met her eyes in the glass, with a very decided frown on the brow. "He thinks to blind me, but I am not to be thrown aside in this sort of way," she said to herself. "He belongs to me, and she shall not have him." And before she slept Dora took her resolution. CHAPTER XII. "HE BELONGS TO ME." "_Lor_. You loved and he did love? _Mar_. To say he did Were to affirm what oft his eyes avouch'd, What many an action testified, and yet What wanted confirmation of his tongue."--_J. S. Knowles._ A few days after this Queenie was returning from afternoon school when Emmie met her at the door of the cottage with her finger on her lip and a general air of mystery about her. "What is it, Emmie?" asked her sister somewhat wearily. "Run in out of the cold air, darling, it is making you cough, I see." "Why is it so dreadfully cold, I wonder?" returned the child shivering. "The winter is over, and yet the wind seems to blow right through one. Who do you think is in there, Queen? actually Miss Cunningham. She has been sitting there nearly an hour, I believe." "Miss Cunningham!" unable to believe her ears; for Langley, with intentional kindness, had not informed her of her return. "Yes; Miss Cunningham. Oh!" dropping her voice to a whisper, "she has tired me so. She is nice and pretty, and has blue eyes like our kitten's; but somehow I can't like her. She asked me such lots of questions all about Uncle Andrew and our being rich; but, do you know, I don't think she quite liked your lending Mr. Garth that money." "Oh, Emmie, you never told her that?" in such a horrified voice that the child looked frightened. "Was it such a great secret? I didn't know you would mind," faltered Emmie; "and she was saying such nice things about Mr. Garth."