"I merely suggest it. Trouble might come, you know. Life is not entirely sunshine; clouds will arise. Well, when they do, we shall see if you really love the Master. At present it is merely a girl's fancy." "Why do you talk to me as if you were a grandmother?" cried Ruth, half offended. "I am young a years but old in experience," said Miss Brawn, with a sigh. "We are nine in our family, and father, as a Civil Service clerk, has only a small income. I have a lot of trouble to make both ends meet, with no mother to help. They all rely on my brain and my fingers, and the responsibility makes me sober." "Poor dear," said Ruth, kissing the freckled cheek. "I wonder you write poetry with all your anxieties." "I have to, and when you have to you do," replied Jennie, somewhat incoherently. "I make a very good income out of my verse, though what I get is not what it ought to be. Why, some of my songs have made thousands of pounds, but of course the publisher and composer share that between them. I only get ten guineas or so." "What a shame!" "Yes, isn't it. However, I don't want to talk about myself, except to thank you for giving me such a perfectly lovely Christmas. As to your refusal of Mr. Heron, I am sure you are wrong." "I don't think so. But if I were it would be perfectly easy to whistle him back. At present I intend to marry Neil, and he is going to ask my father's consent to-night, or to-morrow. If there is trouble you shall see how I stand up for him. You write romances, Jennie, I act them." And with a rustle of silken skirts Ruth vanished. Jennie sighed as she once more took up her pen. It did seem hard that this girl should have all the money, all the looks, and the chance of becoming the Master's wife. Mis Brawn was not an envious person, as we have said, but she could not help grudging Ruth the favours of Fortune which she seemed to value so little. The Christmas dinner passed off that night in the orthodox fashion. Mr. Cass made the usual speech; the usual compliments were exchanged, and the usual reminiscences indulged in. It was quite a family gathering, save that Mr. Cass's eldest daughter was absent. She was married, and had elected to stay with her husband in London. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Chisel--such was her name--could not approach her sister in the matter of looks, and being of a jealous nature did not like--to use an expressive, if somewhat vulgar, phrase--to take a back seat. Ruth was always the recipient of all the admiration and all the attention, so her sister preferred to stay in a circle wherein her own looks could ensure her a certain amount of queendom. Mr. Cass referred to her absence, drank her health, and considered that he had done his duty.