"To think that it is eighteen months since I wore an evening-dress!" sighed Madge tragically. "Do you remember how I talked of holding a _salon_ for all the greatest intellects in London! It is rather a come-down to reflect that the Hermit is the only youngish man who has crossed this threshold since we came. And he is no good to me either, for"--She looked round the room to make sure that Philippa was not present. "I'll tell you a secret, Theo. He is--not falling--he could not do anything so precipitate--but _crawling_ in love with Phil; but he will never find it out unless somebody tells him!" "I'll tell you another stale item. Phil is crawling in love with him too; but wild horses wouldn't make her confess it. If he ever winds himself up to proposing, she will refuse him for the sake of the family and never say a word about it, but only snap off our heads, and grow so cross and cantankerous that there will be no living with her." This from Theo. The other ungrateful sister shrugged her shoulders and exclaimed, "What a nuisance it is when people _will_ make martyrs of themselves! Now, it would really be very nice if Phil lived on the next landing, and could run in and out half-a-dozen times a day; and though the Hermit is not my passion, he is a worthy old thing, and would make a devoted husband. It strikes me, my dear, that you and I will have to take this matter in hand. It is no use asking Hope. She has grown so proper lately that I am quite afraid of her." "Oh no, we won't ask Hope!" said Theo quickly. "But really it would be rather fun to see what we could do--as good as a story in real life. The first step is to make them aware of their own feelings. But how is it to be done?" "We might try jealousy. How would it be if I flirted with him violently under her very eyes?" "He would be horribly bored, without understanding in the least what you were trying to do, and Phil would forbid him the house in case you were blighted in your youthful affections." "Should we take him aside, then, and drop a casual hint of the curate who proposed to her in Leabourne?" "My dear, he would take fright on the moment and consider it his duty to stand aside in favour of a better man. He is so absurdly quixotic that he would positively enjoy immolating himself." "What about pity, then? Snub Phil violently in his presence, and confide to her in secret that his cough sounds consumptive! That would make them sorry for each other, you see, and rouse a desire to help. They would sympathise, and grow sentimental, and--"