“Yes,” replied Jim, continuing his work, “Time is almost up now, and I want to leave things in good order when I go. I don’t want to take the chances of being called back to attend to something just as my trip begins to get interesting.” Conway made no reply. There was something in Jim’s words that grated on him. This was the first time the contemplated voyage had been spoken of since their late trouble. And while he had hardly dared hope that it might be postponed, he certainly had not expected to hear it spoken of in this cool manner. It hurt him to think that they could go on with their pleasant preparations, and show no consideration for his pain. “But, after all, it is only the way of the world,” he thought sadly. “I have no right to expect them to be sorrowful because I must. I had better get away from here as soon as possible. I can only mar their enjoyment by staying.” And he went to bed that night fully determined that the next day should be his last with them. But it was not. He spoke at the breakfast table of his proposed departure; but neither the brother nor sister would listen to it. “You will not go until after Christmas,” pleaded Norine. “That is only a few days now, and you will stay with us until then.” “Of course he will,” interrupted Jim grandly. “We could not get along without him.” Conway protested weakly; but it was of no use. “The idea,” pouted Norine, when Jim had taken his letters and left them alone. “You are very anxious to leave me, and you used to pretend that you liked me, too.” “Was it all pretense?” inquired Conway. “I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Norine, arching her brows. “You are very anxious to leave me.” “Well, I will stay; and you will remember it as one thing I did to please you;” and he bit his lips with vexation as soon as he said it. Norine looked at him for a moment in a puzzled way. “Of course if it does not please you,” she began coldly; and then seeing his mortification, she laughed heartily. “You are a goose,” she said; “but you will stay to please me.” “I did not mean that quite,” stammered Conway, flushing with mortification. “I will be glad to stay, since you wish it.” “That is a good boy.” And she came around the table, and rested her hands upon his shoulders. “And remember, I am going to give you a Christmas present. Will you value it?” And she looked down at him wistfully. Conway reached over and seized her hands and looked up into her face. “I will value it,” he said. “All your life?” “All my life. Am I to help you choose it?” Norine laughed a little, satisfied, happy laugh. “No, you can not choose it,” she said; but with that same wistful look on her face. “You can reject it if you don’t like it.” Conway laughed. He was not likely to reject anything she gave him.