Basil glanced at the clock a little anxiously. “It is too bad,” he murmured; “they have no right to expect so much overtime work. She is sure to come soon.” “Yes; but I think she would like us to begin”; and Doris rose slowly. “It will save time when she does come in.” It was plain Basil disapproved, but she pretended not to see it, and in a short time she and Dudley were seated tête-à-tête, while the invalid remained on his couch. They were gay from spontaneity of pleasure, and Hal would have been surprised at the cheeriness of her grave brother, had she seen how he responded to Doris’s playful mood. Then Ethel’s key sounded in the door, and it was as though a slight shadow fell upon them. Doris wished she had been later still; Dudley seemed to grow grave again, from habit, and Basil watched the door like a big devoted dog, with eyes of hungry love. As she entered her first glance was for him, and her nod and smile ere she turned to greet the visitor hid all her own weariness, and was reflected in a light of glad welcome on the sick man’s face. “I’m so glad you didn’t wait,” she said; “I stayed to get the drawing-paper.” “But why did you, dear?” he asked, with quick remonstrance. “Doris could easily have gone tomorrow.” “Of course I could”; and Doris skilfully threw a hurt tone in her voice, which Dudley was quick to detect. “I wanted to walk,” was all Ethel said, as she moved away to take off her hat and coat. But in spite of her efforts the gaiety did not return, and Doris grew a little pensive and sad. Dudley, with his surface reasoning, saw in her attitude something that suggested the other two were in the habit of being entirely wrapped up in each other, to the exclusion of the young sister. Ethel might be a remarkably clever and capable woman; he knew perfectly well that she was just as able with her fingers as her brain, and did nearly all the upholstering and dressmaking of the household in her evening free time; but wasn’t she just a little superior and self-satisfied also—just a little unkindly indifferent to the monotony and dullness of her young sister’s existence? Dudley found his sympathy go out more and more to those childlike eyes, and the pretty, clinging ways; and a sort of half-fledged resentment grew up against the elder sister. He could not choose but admire her, if it were only for her devotion to her brother, but he felt a vague something, in his thoughts of her, that he could not express, and remained grave. Ethel, watching them both covertly while she moved about helping Doris to clear away the dinner things, guessed at much that was passing in his mind, and unconsciously grew a little strained in her manner to him. That he should pity Doris and blame her seemed at last irony, but it could not be helped; and not even to win his love could she attempt to change her natural manner, and appear what might better please him.