"Now, mind—you've got to be brave, and not to give in; and, of course, you'll be happy and all that, wherever you are, and everybody will be kind to you. Only you're not to get too fond of those people. Not so as to be in a spoony state by-and-by, when you have to leave them. You belong to Sis and me; and Dr. Bryant is no relation." Lettice might have suggested that she could spare abundance of affection in both quarters, without defrauding either; but she was not of an argumentative nature. "I don't know what sort of man Dr. Bryant is, and I don't much care. He may be nice, or he may not. Anyhow, he means to be kind to you and Sissie; and that's right enough, for the time. Only, mind—you belong to me first. Promise not to forget." She looked up wonderingly. "Why, Felix—how could I? You don't think I'm like that!" "I don't know. You girls are so odd—ready to take to anybody. You may be as happy as you like: only you've got to remember that your real home is with me—I mean, with Sis and me!" With Sis, for how long? A stab shot through the girl, and she turned her face away. "Here, sit down. I can't see you properly, when you poke the top of your hat towards me like that. You understand?—I don't mean to leave you there long. As soon as I can possibly manage to support you both, I'll have you back in Brighton. Not in lodgings, but in a cosy little house of our own. Sis will be none the worse for two or three years of idleness first. I suppose it might be two or three years, unless she gets strong enough to teach again . . . I say, are you listening? Let me look at your face. I do believe you are going to sleep." The brown hat had dropped against his shoulder, and Lettice drew it away with a hasty movement. "What's the matter? Are you tired?" "I don't know." "Nonsense. People always know. I believe you are. There!—Put your head on my shoulder again, and go to sleep. You'll be all right presently." He pulled her with rough kindness into the position suggested, pushing her hat back as he did so. The breeze, lifting her hair, made him exclaim: "I say, what a bump you got yesterday! Is that the mischief? Does it hurt?" "It aches." "Why didn't you tell me? Now shut your eyes, and be quiet. There's nobody near to look on." Lettice made an attempt to obey, but in ten seconds the brown eyes were open again, gazing at some far-off vision, beyond the ken of Felix. He watched her with unwonted closeness. Perhaps the realisation of parting near at hand awoke a new warmth of affection. She had always been a good little sister: counted rather ordinary among themselves, a not unpleasing contrast to his clever and good-looking self. Now he was studying her purely for her own sake: and the patient sadness of the small pale face and wistful eyes woke in him an instinct of brotherly pity and protection. Had that look been there before, he wondered? "What are you looking at, Lettice?" "I don't know." "Nonsense." "I mean nothing particular."