“Yes, I think we are,” answered Effie with a pleased and conscious smile. “You see, Raby and Ray aren’t a bit intellectual, they don’t care to read or talk about books, and Cyril is so clever. He reads to me sometimes and lends me books, and we talk about them afterwards. I have a lot of time for thinking about things. Cyril thinks a great deal too. I suppose that’s why he likes coming. Do you think he thinks me clever, Sheila?” “I don’t know. He did not say.” “I don’t call myself clever,” went on Effie, “but I think in my own way; I don’t go by what other people tell me. I like to have my own ideas about things. One ought to be original, don’t you think? Mother often says I have such an original mind. I think perhaps I shall write some day when I am stronger. I have done a few things. Cyril saw one or two. I think he was rather anxious for me to go on. Perhaps I’ll show them to you some day. I took a prize once at an essay competition; Cyril helped me. He was very proud when I got the prize.” Effie was quite happy now, fairly launched upon her favourite topic. Sheila listened and tried to be sympathetic, but wished that Cyril had stayed longer. His conversation was more interesting a good deal than Effie’s. Presently there was rather a long silence between the girls, and then Effie asked suddenly— “Sheila, do you think there’s any harm in cousins marrying?” “I don’t know,” answered Sheila, waking from her day-dream. “Why should there be? Don’t they often do it?” “Yes, very often; but some people don’t like it. I never quite know why. I can’t see why they shouldn’t.” Sheila turned a glance rather full of interest upon Effie. “Does Cyril want to marry you?” she asked, with the outspoken candour of girlhood. Effie’s face flamed, but there was a lurking smile in her eyes. She looked down and twisted her hands together. “I don’t know. He has never said so. Did you think that yourself, Sheila?” It had not entered Sheila’s head till Effie’s own words had suggested it; but certainly Cyril had paid a good deal of attention to Effie, and had seemed anxious to see more of her. “I’ve never seen people in love,” she answered; “I don’t know what they do, or how they look. Do you think you would like to marry Cyril, Effie?” Effie blushed, but looked up with a sparkle of defiance in her eyes. “He’ll have to fall in love with me first, and then I’ll perhaps think about it. You don’t suppose I’m going to care for anybody in that way if he doesn’t care for me? I’m the heiress of Cossart Place—you heard Cyril say so himself. I believe I shall have a very big fortune some day. You don’t suppose I’m going to be had just for the asking—not even by Cyril!” Sheila held her peace; her ideas about love and marriage were very elementary and immature, but she did not see that what persons had could make very much difference. It was whether they cared for each other, she thought.