"The profit comes from the labor, not from the capital," said Ellen, quickly. "Doesn't it?" she continued, with fervor, and yet there was a charming timidity, as before some authority. "Possibly," replied Robert, guardedly; "but the question is how far we should go back before we stop in searching for causes." "How far back ought we to go?" asked Ellen, earnestly. "I confess I don't know," said Robert, laughingly. "I have thought very little about it all." "But you will have to, if you are to be the head of Lloyd's," Ellen said, with a severe accent, with grave, blue eyes full on his face. "Oh, I am not the head of Lloyd's yet," he answered, easily. "My uncle is far from his dotage. Then, too, you know that I was never intended for a business man, but a lawyer, like my father, if there had not been so little for my father's second wife and the children--" He stopped himself abruptly on the verge of a confidence. "I think I saw you on your way to the photographer to-day," he said, and Ellen blushed, remembering her aunt Eva's violent nudge, and wondering if he had noticed. She gave him a piteous glance. "Yes," she said. "All the girls have their pictures taken in their graduating dresses with their flowers." "You looked to me as if the picture would be a great success," said Robert. He longed to ask for one and yet did not, for a reason unexplained to himself. He knew that this innocent, unsophisticated creature would see no reason on earth why he should not ask, and no reason why she should not grant, and on that account he felt prohibited. That night, after he had gone, Ellen wondered why he had not asked for one of her pictures, and felt anxious lest he should have seen the nudge. "Well," she said to herself, "if he finds any fault with anything that my mother has done, I don't want him to have one."