'Well, I suppose I am to blame in a little way,' said Marie, dropping her head still lower. 'I sat up all night, thinking over matters of this kind, and at dawn I saw something in the sky, and heard something that made me pray. Your brother it was, Kate dear, who turned my eyes to such things one day as we stood under St Paul's. I did not feel equal to-day to the society of men. So I thought, if you would allow me, I would spend a long quiet day with you, and have a quiet talk with you, Kate; for I liked you better than any other girl I met when I saw you first.' 'And I, Marie, too, liked you better than any other girl I ever met. Of course, I can see how things are. You and I are friends, no matter how short a time we have known each other.' The girls turned into the house, and sought Marie's room. When they were there, Kate said,-- 'I am dull and stupid. But I have a sister at home who is more lively. You would not think we are related so closely.' She put her arms round the girl, and continued, 'I love George, Marie, with all my heart, and it would break my heart if anything went wrong with him. I think it would kill me if anything went wrong with him now. Tell me, dear--for you see I know how matters are--is anything settled yet?' 'No.' 'But, Marie, I am likely to have another, a second sister?' 'You do not want her?' 'I want anything that is good for George.' 'And you don't think you'd dislike me when you know me better?' 'I am sure I should not.' 'Then I'll tell him when he comes home from that horrid Preraphaelite Club, or whatever you call it, to which I've sent him. I'll tell him.' 'What will you tell him?' 'That--that,' she threw her arms around Kate's neck, and buried her face in Kate's bosom, 'that you want me for a sister, and that I want you for a sister, oh, so badly, so badly!'--she wept passionately for a moment. She sobbed in a few minutes--'and then maybe he'll not go to any of those awful places with that dreadful Mr Nevill again. Kate, I'll try to keep him away, and make him do all your good self would wish. Don't blame me for what happened to-day. I shall feel wretched until I see him again.' CHAPTER XI. AN IDLE AFTERNOON. Mr Wilfrid Parkinson was a dapper, good-looking, sleek-faced man, of six-and-thirty years of age. He scaled light, and was nimble in all his movements. He had a neat intelligent forehead, neat delicate hands, was always clad in cloth of faultless fit, relieved by linen of snowy whiteness. It was easy to mistake him for a clergyman.