“He couldn’t do what you asked, because it would be unfair to his partner. Now, isn’t that it exactly? And wasn’t that honorable? Now, _be_ frank, Kate.” “The partner would have gone into anything headlong, asking no questions, raising no objections, if I had so much ais lifted my finger. He never would have given, partner a thought.” Kate, confided this answer to the firelight. She was conscious of a desire just now not to meet her sister’s glance. “And you like the man without scruples better than the man with them?” “At least, he is more interesting,” the elder girl said, still with her eyes on the burning logs. Ethel waited a little for some additional hint as to her sister’s state of mind. When the silence had begun to make itself felt, she said: “Kate Minster, you don’t mean one word of what you are saying.” “Ah, but I do.” “No; listen to me. You really in your heart respect Mr. Tracy very much for his action to-day.” “For being so much less eager to help me than he was to help the milliner?” “No; for not being willing to help even you by doing an unfair thing.” “Well--if you like--respect, yes. But so one respects John Knox, and Increase Mather, and St. Simon What’s-his-name on top of the pillar--all the disagreeable people, in fact. But it isn’t respect that makes the world go round. There is such a thing as caring too much for respect, and too little for warmth of feeling, and generous impulses, and--and so on.” “You’re a queer girl, Kate,” was all Ethel could think to say. This time the silence maintained itself so long that the snapping of sparks on the hearth, and even the rushing suction of air in the lamp-flame, grew to be obvious noises. At last Ethel slid softly from the couch to the carpet, and nestled her head against her sister’s waist. Kate put her arm tenderly over the girl’s shoulder, and drew her closer to her, and the silence had become vocal with affectionate mur-murings to them both. It was the younger sister who finally spoke: “You _won’t_ do anything rash, Kate? Nothing without talking it over with me?” she pleaded, almost sadly. Kate bent over and kissed her twice, thrice, on the forehead, and stroked the silken hair upon this forehead caressingly. Her own eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears before she made answer, rising as she spoke, and striving to import into her voice the accent of gayety: “As if I ever dreamed of doing anything at all without asking you! And please, puss, may I go to bed now?” CHAPTER XXIII.--HORACE’S PATH BECOMES TORTUOUS. “Tracy has found out that I’m doing the Minster business, and he’s cut up rough about it. I shouldn’t be surprised if the firm came a cropper over the thing.”