Netty Swinton sat before the drawing-room fire, curled up on the white bearskin rug with a book in her hand, munching biscuits. Netty was generally eating something. Her eyes were red, but she had not been weeping much, and, as she stared into the embers, her pretty, expressionless little mouth was drawn in a discontented downward curve. She was in mourning--and she hated black. Netty was thinking ruefully of Dick's disgrace that had fallen upon the family, and wondering anxiously what the effect would be upon Harry Bent and his relations, when a knock at the front door disturbed her meditations, and presently, after a parley, a visitor was announced--although visitors were not received to-day, with Mrs. Swinton lying ill upstairs, and the rector shut up alone in his study. "Miss Dundas." Netty rose ungraciously, and presented a frigid hand to Dora, casting a sharp, feminine eye over the newcomer's black dress and hat, which signified that she, too, was in mourning. This Netty regarded as rather impertinent. The girls had never been intimate friends, although they had seen a great deal of one another when Mrs. Swinton took Dora under her wing and introduced her into society, which found Netty dull, and made much of Dora. This aroused a natural jealousy. The girls were opposite in temperament, and, in a way, rivals. "Netty, is your mother really ill?" asked Dora, as she extended her hand, "or is she merely not receiving anyone?" "Mother has a bad headache, and is lying down. She is naturally very upset." "Oh, Netty, it is terrible!" sobbed Dora, breaking down hopelessly. "It can't be true--it can't!" "What can't be true?" asked Netty, coldly. "Poor dear Dick's death. It will kill me." "I don't think there is any doubt about it," snapped Netty. "And I don't see why you should feel it more than anybody else." "Netty, that is unkind of you--ungenerous. You know I loved Dick. He was mine--mine!" "Forgive me, but was he not also Nellie Ocklebourne's, and the dear friend of I don't know how many others besides? But none of them have been here since they heard that he got into a scrape before he went away." "There has been some hideous blunder." "No, it is simple enough," said Netty, curling herself up on a low settee. "Think what it may mean to me--just engaged to Harry Bent--and now, there's no knowing what he may do. His people may resent his bringing into the family the sister of a--forger." "Netty, you sha'n't speak of Dick like that!" "Why shouldn't I? Did he think of me? Really, you are too absurd! I don't see why you should excite yourself about it. If you think that he cared for you only, you are merely one more foolish victim." "Netty, how can you talk of your brother so! He is accused of a horrible crime. Why don't you stand up for him? Why don't you do something to clear him? What is your father doing--and your mother?" "Surely, they can be left to manage their affairs as they think best."