“My dear Clare, of course I will read them directly if you wish it,” said Edgar, half-provoked. “You have but to say so. Of course, nothing troubles me that you wish. I sent down to ask after poor little Jeanie this morning,” he added, after a pause, falling into his usual tone; “and the doctor says she has had a tolerably good night. I must go and see Miss Somers after church. She will have learned all about it by this time, and that story about Arthur Arden and the Pimpernels. Miss Pimpernel, I told you, was thrown out of the carriage as well as Jeanie----” “I think you told me,” said Clare faintly. “I know so little about Miss Pimpernel; and I do not like that other girl. It may be prejudice, but I don’t like her. I wish you would not talk of her to me.” Edgar looked up at his sister with grave wonder--“As you please,” he said seriously, but his cheek flushed, half with anger, half with disappointment. What could have happened to Clare? She was not like herself. She scarcely looked at him even when she spoke. She was constrained and cold as if he were the merest stranger. She had again avoided his kiss, and never addressed him by his name. What could it mean? Scarcely anything more was said at breakfast. Clare could not open her lips, and Edgar was annoyed, and did not. It seemed so very mysterious to him. He was indeed as nearly angry as it was in his nature to be. It seemed to him a mere freak of temper--an ebullition of pride. And he was so entirely innocent in respect to Jeanie! The child herself was so innocent. Poor little Jeanie!--he thought of her with additional tenderness as he looked at his sister’s unsympathetic face. “I suppose we may walk together to church as usual,” he said. It was the only remark that had broken the silence for nearly half an hour. “If you have no objection”--said Clare formally, with something of that aggravating submission which wives sometimes show to their husbands, driving them frantic, “I think I shall drive--but not if you object to the horses being taken out.” “Why should I object?” he said, restraining himself with an effort, “except that I am very sorry not to have your company, Clare.”