"Felix is so disposed to be extravagant." "Well; yes. But I was going to say that though I cannot bring myself to say anything to encourage her about this heiress, I quite recognise her unselfish devotion to his interests." "Mamma thinks more of him than of anything," said Hetta, not in the least intending to accuse her mother of indifference to herself. "I know it; and though I happen to think myself that her other child would better repay her devotion,"--this he said, looking up to Hetta and smiling,--"I quite feel how good a mother she is to Felix. You know, when she first came the other day we almost had a quarrel." "I felt that there was something unpleasant." "And then Felix coming after his time put me out. I am getting old and cross, or I should not mind such things." "I think you are so good,--and so kind." As she said this she leaned upon his arm almost as though she meant to tell him that she loved him. "I have been angry with myself," he said, "and so I am making you my father confessor. Open confession is good for the soul sometimes, and I think that you would understand me better than your mother." "I do understand you; but don't think there is any fault to confess." "You will not exact any penance?" She only looked at him and smiled. "I am going to put a penance on myself all the same. I can't congratulate your brother on his wooing over at Caversham, as I know nothing about it, but I will express some civil wish to him about things in general." "Will that be a penance?" "If you could look into my mind you'd find that it would. I'm full of fretful anger against him for half-a-dozen little frivolous things. Didn't he throw his cigar on the path? Didn't he lie in bed on Sunday instead of going to church?" "But then he was travelling all the Saturday night." "Whose fault was that? But don't you see it is the triviality of the offence which makes the penance necessary. Had he knocked me over the head with a pickaxe, or burned the house down, I should have had a right to be angry. But I was angry because he wanted a horse on Sunday;--and therefore I must do penance." There was nothing of love in all this. Hetta, however, did not wish him to talk of love. He was certainly now treating her as a friend,--as a most intimate friend. If he would only do that without making love to her, how happy could she be! But his determination still held good. "And now," said he, altering his tone altogether, "I must speak about myself." Immediately the weight of her hand upon his arm was lessened. Thereupon he put his left hand round and pressed her arm to his. "No," he said; "do not make any change towards me while I speak to you. Whatever comes of it we shall at any rate be cousins and friends." "Always friends!" she said.