“Yes.” She smiled infectiously. “I’ve only once been spoken to unpleasantly in London, after knocking about for seven years, and then I offered the man a sixpence. I said: ‘I’m sorry I haven’t any more, and I can’t spare that, but if you are hungry!...’ He looked as if he would like to slay me, and vanished.” Doris still looked slightly disapproving, and when at last Hal rose to go, she half-unconsciously asked Ethel with her eyes to accompany her to get her hat, instead of her prospective sister-in-law. And when they were alone, Ethel looked into Hal’s expressive face, and guessing something of what she carefully hid, said sympathetically: “You and Dudley have always been so much to each other; I am afraid you must feel it a little having to share him already with another.” Suddenly and inexplicably Hal’s eyes filled with tears, and she turned away quite unable to answer. Ethel pretended not to notice, but her heart bled for her, knowing how much worse it was than just the fact of the engagement. “I’m so wrapped up in Basil,” she went on, “that if it had happened to me I should have felt quite heartbroken, however much I told myself I wanted his happiness.” Hal dabbed her eyes a little viciously. “Of course I want him to be happy,” she managed to say; “but it is nice of you to understand.” “There’s one thing,” Ethel continued, “you will become a sort of relation, and you’ve no idea how pleased Basil and I will be about that.” “Will you?” Hal smiled through her tears, “I rather wonder at it.” “Of course we shall. Basil and I think you are one of the finest characters we have ever known. You’ve no idea how proud we are when you come to see us,” which proved Ethel’s understanding heart, for a little generous praise is a kind healer to a sore spirit. Hal looked into her eyes, with a pleased light in her own. “You are too generous, but it’s nice to be thought well of by any one like you and Basil. I shall remember it when I am silly enough to be downhearted, and it will cheer me up.” She had to hurry away then to catch a train, and as she went her mind was full of the thought: “Why, oh why, had Dudley, in his blindness, wooed the younger sister?” “Well?” he said, as she entered their sitting-room, where he was reading over the fire. “How did you get on?” “Oh, splendidly”—trying to throw a little enthusiasm into her voice. “Doris looked amazingly pretty.” She show a soft light in his eyes, and because it rather maddened her, she hastened to add: “But I see a great change in Basil.” “Yes?... I wondered if you would. I was afraid he did not seem so well.” “Dudley”—with sudden seriousness—“when Basil dies, it will just about break Ethel up. She idolises him.” “I know; but she can hardly wish him to live on if he continues to grow worse.”