"Make out your charges in detail, and when you are sure you have included all the petty deeds of tyranny as well as the heinous acts of brutality, I will examine the indictment, and hear myself arraigned. Shall I bring you some legal cap, and loan you my pencil?" For five minutes she held her handkerchief to her eyes, and then Mr. Minge rose and looked at his watch. "You will not be so unkind as to leave me again this afternoon, and spend your time with that--" "Constance, you transcend your privileges, and this is a most _apropos_ and convenient occasion to remind you that presumption is one fault I find it particularly difficult to forgive. Since my forbearance only invites aggression, let me hear say (as an economy of trouble), that you are rashly invading a realm where I permit none to enter, much less to dictate. I hope you understand me." "I knew it,--I felt it! I dreaded that artful girl would make mischief between us,--would alienate the only heart I had left to care for me. Oh, how I wish she had been forty fathoms under the sea before you ever saw her!--before you ceased to love me!" A flood of tears emphasized the sentence, which seemed lost upon Mr. Minge, as he lighted a cigar, tried its flavor, threw it away, and puffed the smoke from a second. "I am sorry you can't smoke and compose your nerves, as I am preparing to do,--though I confess I prefer to kiss your lips untainted by such odors. Shall I?" He held his cigar aside to prevent the wind from wafting the curling column of smoke in her face, and bent his head close to hers; but she put up her hand to prevent the caress, and averted her face. "As you like. But mark you, Constance, the next time our lips touch, you will find yourself in the nominative case, while I meekly fill an objective position. You are a poor, wilful, spoiled child, and I must begin to undo my own ruinous work." He picked up his hat and walked off, followed by a pretty Italian mouse-colored greyhound, whose silver bell tinkled as she ran down the steps. "Merton, come back! Do not leave me here alone, or I shall die. Brother!--" On strode the stalwart figure, looking neither to right nor left, and behind him trailed the vaporous aroma of the fine cigar. Raising herself on her couch, the invalid elevated her voice, and exclaimed,-- "Please, dear Merton, come back,--at least long enough to let me kiss you. Please, brother!" He paused,--wavered,--drew geometrical figures on the ground with the tip of his boot, and finally took off his hat, turned and bowed, saying,-- "Show some flag of truce, if you really want me to return." She raised her hands and gracefully tossed him several kisses. Slowly Mr. Minge retraced his steps, and, as he sat down once more close to his sister and pushed back his hat, she saw that he intended her to realize that her reign was at an end; and she trembled and turned pale at the expression with which he regarded her.