I should scarcely have recognised him as my brother. He had gone away but little more than a boy, he had returned a handsome, cultured man. He was not big and clumsy like myself, but tall and lithe, and yet exceedingly muscular. There was grace in his every movement, while refinement was stamped upon his handsome face. I could not help feeling the contrast between us. I was a great boorish country clown, he was as handsome as a Greek god. Surely, too, there was a look of malicious satisfaction on my mother's face as she saw the difference between us. He seemed to change the very atmosphere of the house. Everything had a new meaning when associated with him. My sisters looked at him with admiration, while Ruth was evidently fascinated by the charm of his presence. In his boyish days he had often seemed sulky, but that was all gone. His demeanour towards my father was at once respectful and affectionate, to his mother he was kind and loving, to the girls he was gallant and considerate, while to me I thought he extended an air of patronage. The old Wilfred had gone, and a new Wilfred had taken his place; a Wilfred who was brilliant, gallant, scholarly. I remember that we dined early that day, and after dinner I went out alone, as I often did, and sat upon the great headland which stood out against the sea. I remained there some time thinking, and wondered what kind of a life we should lead now that Wilfred had come back. I felt in some way that I had no right to my father's estate; I was not fit for it, and that I lived there on my brother's bounty. These thoughts were disturbed by the sound of voices, and looking up I saw a sight that caused my brain to whirl and my heart to throb violently. Wilfred and Ruth were walking arm-in-arm, and he was looking at her at once tenderly and with an air of proprietorship. Then I knew what I did not know before, then I realised what nearly drove me mad. I loved Ruth Morton with all the strength of my being, while she, I could tell from the tender confiding look on her face, was in love with my brother Wilfred. I staggered to my feet, scarcely knowing what I was doing, and stared them in the face foolishly. "Ah, Roger," said Wilfred, lightly, "enjoying yourself in the old way? All play and no work. Happy fellow, you, Roger; but then, some people are born lucky." I felt myself treated as a child. There was a jeering look upon his face as he spoke, and his tone was that of a man speaking to another of inferior intellect. I did not answer his sally. I only felt desirous of joining in their walk, of having a chance, no less than he, of speaking to Ruth; so I stammered out: "You are going for a walk; let me go with you." He did not hesitate a minute before replying, and in the same tone as he spoke before. "You won't mind, I'm sure, Roger, when I tell you that we prefer taking this walk alone. We haven't met for three years, and have so much to say to each other."