Then the Reverend Silas joined in. “You should have more sense of responsibility toward your brother, your only brother, Annie,” he said, in his deep pulpit voice. “It was after two o'clock when you went out,” said Imogen. “And all you had to do was the dinner-dishes, and there were very few to-day,” said Jane. Then Annie turned with a quick, cat-like motion. Her eyes blazed under her brown toss of hair. She gesticulated with her little, nervous hands. Her voice was as sweet and intense as a reed, and withal piercing with anger. “It was not half past one when I went out,” said she, “and there was a whole sinkful of dishes.” “It was after two. I looked at the clock,” said Imogen. “It was not.” “And there were very few dishes,” said Jane. “A whole sinkful,” said Annie, tense with wrath. “You always are rather late about starting,” said Susan. “I am not! I was not! I washed the dishes, and swept the kitchen, and blacked the stove, and cleaned the silver.” “I swept the kitchen,” said Imogen, severely. “Annie, I am surprised at you.” “And you know I cleaned the silver yesterday,” said Jane. Annie gave a gasp and looked from one to the other. “You know you did not sweep the kitchen,” said Imogen. Annie's father gazed at her severely. “My dear,” he said, “how long must I try to correct you of this habit of making false statements?” “Dear Annie does not realize that they are false statements, father,” said Jane. Jane was not pretty, but she gave the effect of a long, sweet stanza of some fine poetess. She was very tall and slender and large-eyed, and wore always a serious smile. She was attired in a purple muslin gown, cut V-shaped at the throat, and, as always, a black velvet ribbon with a little gold locket attached. The locket contained a coil of hair. Jane had been engaged to a young minister, now dead three years, and he had given her the locket. Jane no doubt had mourned for her lover, but she had a covert pleasure in the romance of her situation. She was a year younger than Annie, and she had loved and lost, and so had achieved a sentimental distinction. Imogen always had admirers. Eliza had been courted at intervals half-heartedly by a widower, and Susan had had a few fleeting chances. But Jane was the only one who had been really definite in her heart affairs. As for Annie, nobody ever thought of her in such a connection. It was supposed that Annie had no thought of marriage, that she was foreordained to remain unwed and keep house for her father and Benny.