“I think her annoyance is very natural,” said Marmaduke, gloomily. “No doubt you are right to take care of your sister, but you are very much mistaken if you think I meant to act badly toward her.” “It is no part of my duty to take care of her,” said Conolly, seriously. “She is her own guardian, and she has never been encouraged to suppose that her responsibility lies with any one but herself.” “It doesnt matter now,” said Marmaduke; “for I intend never to speak to her again.” Conolly laughed. “However that may turn out,” he said, “we are evidently not in the mood for further conviviality, so let us postpone the supper to some other occasion. May I advise you not to wait until Susanna returns. There is no chance of a reconciliation to-night.” “I dont want any reconciliation.” “Of course not; I had forgotten,” replied Conolly, placably. “Then I suppose you will go before she has finished dressing.” “I shall go now,” said Marmaduke, buttoning his overcoat, and turning away. “Good-night,” said Conolly. “Good-night,” muttered Marmaduke, petulantly, and disappeared. Conolly waited a moment, so that he might not overtake Lind. He then went for a cab, and waited at the stage door until his sister came down, frowning. She got into the hansom without a word. “Why dont you have a brougham, instead of going about in cabs?” he said, as they drove away. “Because I like a hansom better than a brougham; and I had rather pay four shillings a night and travel comfortably, than thirteen and be half suffocated.” “I thought the appearance of——” “There is no use in your talking to me. I cant hear a word you say going over these stones.” When they were alone together in their drawing-room in Lambeth, he, after walking up and down the room a few times, and laughing softly to himself, began to sing the couplets from the burlesque. “Are you aware,” she inquired, “that it is half past twelve, and that the people of the house are trying to sleep.” “True,” said he, desisting. “By the bye, I, too, have had my triumphs this evening. I shared the honors of the concert with Master Lind, who was so delighted that he insisted on bringing me off to the Bijou. He loves you to distraction, poor devil!” “Yes: you made a nice piece of mischief there. Where is he?” “Gone away in a rage, swearing never to speak to you again.” “Hm! And so his name is Lind, is it?” “Didnt you know?” “No, or I should have told you when I read the program this evening. The young villain pretended that his name was Marmaduke Sharp.” “Ah! The name reminds me of one of his cousins, a little spitfire that snaps at every one who presumes to talk to her.” “His cousins! Oh, of course; you met them at the concert. What are they like? Are they swells?”