“About a brother and a sister and a gentleman who loved her,” said Clare, colouring high. “Oh, no--I mean yes--I think I do recollect. And did you say the brother wanted your advice?” This was said in a tone which chilled poor Miss Somers through and through to her very heart. “I told him so,” she said, faltering. “Of course I never pretended to set up to be very---- And how could I give advice? But then the poor dear brother was so---- And I suppose he thought a lady, you know--and old enough to be--or perhaps it was only to please me. I told him oh, no! never, never! And I told him some things that were _too_---- Dear Edgar was quite affected, Clare.” “Did you advise him to go away?” asked Clare, with a smouldering fire in her eyes. “Oh, my dear, could I take upon me to---- And then he never said anything about---- It was the poor girl I was thinking of. I said oh, no! never, never!--rather anything than that. You know what I have said to you so often, Clare? When a girl has a disappointment, you never can tell. It may be consumption, or it may be--oh, my dear, the unlikeliest things!--bilious fever I have known, or even rheumatism. I told dear Edgar, and he was so nice; he was sure his friend would never think---- And fancy, dear, of its being _my_ advice!” “It must be very flattering to you,” said Clare; but she rose instantly, and took a very summary leave, avoiding Miss Somers’s kiss. She went home, glowing with anger and mortified pride. It was but too easy to see through so simple a veil. Edgar, who met her on the way home, could not understand her glowing cheek and angry eye. He turned and walked with her, feeling quite concerned about his sister. “What has happened?” he said. “Something disagreeable at the village? Can I set it right for you, Clare?” “No,” she said; “it is nothing disagreeable in the village. It is much nearer than the village. Edgar, I have found out why you are going away. You are going for my sake; you think I am not able to manage my own affairs--to take care of myself. You think so poorly of your sister as that!” “What do you mean?” he said. “_I_ think anything that is disagreeable or distasteful to you? You cannot believe it for a moment----” “It is that Arthur Arden may go,” she said firmly, but with flaming cheeks. And Edgar looked at her confused, not knowing what to say. But after the first moment he recovered himself. “I think he has paid us a sufficiently long visit, I confess,” he said. “I think, as it cannot be his while I live, that perhaps he had better not remain longer at Arden. But why should this be a matter of offence to you?” Clare was silent; her blush grew hotter, her eyes were glowing still, but she faltered, and drooped her head as she went on. “If that was all! if you had no other meaning! Edgar, do you think I am so frivolous, so lightly moved, so----”