"I won it. I, even I, Denis, the twin of Nell, won it in a sweep-stake. Now see how businesslike I’ve grown, Nell. I pulled off six bob really, but it was a shilling to enter each time—that’s two bob—and the time I lost, another, so I reckon I won three altogether. See?" "What a beautifully easy way to get three shillings!" "I might have lost two instead. Seems to me there’s an idea somewhere there, Nell—work it on a bigger scale, and you’d have me turning those beggars out of Kilbrannan." "But suppose you lost?" "Oh, I shouldn’t. Anyhow, I’d stand to win so much more than I’d lose. I’m going to think it out. There are places abroad." "Denis, you’d get taken up! I remember dad reading about a case—" "Not me," airily. Nell punched his pillow thoughtfully. "I don’t like it, Denis," she decided. "It’s too risky, and—and—" "Well?" "I’m sure dad and mother would call it gambling! There, I feel like a goody little sister in a book." He laughed. "You don’t look the character, anyway. And you’re to go to bed." "But—but you won’t—" "Oh, I may break the bank of England yet, who knows?" teasingly; "go to bed and dream of me, asthore." "Is it nightmare you want me to have?" "Race you to your room—in the dark!" Two minutes later Miss Kezia’s door opened once more. Dead silence greeted her. She went a few steps up the stairs. All doors were shut. Miss Kezia was sleepy, even more than she was cross. She went back to her bed. As Nell laid her head on the pillow she muttered, "Of course it was that tiresome Lancaster!" *CHAPTER VI* Molly was huddled up on the hearth-rug, chin on knees, staring with her great soft eyes into the fire. "Nell, do you think I’ll be like the ugly duckling and grow pretty?" "You’re not ugly enough." Molly sighed. "I _wish_ my hair curled!" "Molly," said Nell, flinging down her pencil in despair of seeing any longer without the lamp, "your soul is full of the vanities of life. ’Be good, sweet child, and let who will be—pretty.’" "It’s so easy for pretty people to talk like that!" "I’m bowing, Mol, I really am—only it’s so dark it’s lost on you." "I’ve a good mind to start saying ’prunes and prisms’ all day long, my mouth’s so huge!" "But it’s so Irish, asthore!" "I hate you," said Molly. Nell stuck her elbows on the table, and her chin into her hands, and studied in her mind the painting of the old cab horse. It was such a glorious painting—there was such depth—his muscles—the veins in that leg were wonderful—in her mind. She sighed. "Nell," in the firelight Molly blushed, "I’m going to soften Aunt Kezia’s heart!" "What? Soften her heart, is it? You’ll have to soften her head first, my dear." She began to laugh softly. "How are you going to set about it, Mol?"