“But it is possible to live out of England for all that,” he said; “and I know people in Germany that would have the deepest sympathy with you. The Von Dummkopfs think just the same of themselves as the Ardens do, and look down just as much upon outsiders. I wonder how you would like the Fraulein Ida? They have twenty quarterings in their arms, and blood that has been filtered through all the veins worth speaking of in Germany for ever so many centuries; but then the Von Dummkopfs are not so rich as we are, Clare.” “As if I ever thought of that!” she said. “Who is Fraulein Ida? I have no doubt I shall like her--if she is nice. But, Edgar, though I would not say a word against your German friends, it would be so much nicer if you would marry an English girl. I should be able to love her so much more.” “Softly,” said Edgar; “don’t go so fast, please. I have not the least intention of marrying any one; and I don’t admire the Fraulein Ida. I want nobody but my sister, as long as she will keep faithful to me. Let us have the good of each other for a little now, without any one to interfere.” “Edgar, no one can interfere,” said Clare hurriedly. “Now that man is gone, oh, Edgar! I must say one word for poor papa. I know he was hard upon you, dear; but he never interfered--never said a word--never tried to keep me from loving you. Indeed, indeed, he never did! I know I was cross yesterday about that picture. If you don’t like it, it shall come down; it is only right it should come down. But oh, Edgar, he was so kind, he was so good to me!” Edgar had risen before the words were half said, and stood by her, holding her tenderly in his arms. “My dear little sister!” he said, “you have always been the one star I had to cheer me. You shall hang all the house with his picture if you like. I forgive him all my grievances because he was good to you. But, Clare, he hated me.” “No, Edgar, not hated,” cried Clare, raising to him her weeping face. “Oh, not hated; but he loved mamma so, and you were so like her, he never could bear----” Her voice faltered as she spoke. It was all she could say, but she did not believe it. As for Edgar, he shook his head with a smile that was half bitter half sad. “I know better,” he said; “but it is a question we need not discuss. Believe the gentle fiction, dear, if you can. But I will never say a word again about any picture. Let it be. It would be hard if your brother could not put up with anything that was dear to you. Now tell me about Mr. Fazakerley, and what he is going to say.”