“Ah, but there you are wrong,” said Lottie, whose face was lighted up with a smile of triumph. “I thought you would be on my side! But there you are wrong. She would be happy, proud to serve you. Do you think I mean we are to be idle, not to take our share? Oh, no, no! In nature a man works and rests; but a woman never rests. Look at the poor people. The man has his time to himself in the evenings, and his wife serves him. It is quite right--it is her share. I should never, never grumble at that. Only,” cried Lottie, involuntarily clasping her hands, “not to be sent outside to work there! I keep Mary for the name of the thing; because it seems right to have a servant; but if we could not afford to keep Mary do you think I would make a fuss? Oh, no, Mr. Ashford, no! I could do three times what she does. I should not mind what I did. But if it came to going out, to having it known, to letting people say, ‘His sister is a governess,’ or (far worse) ‘His sister is a singer’--it is that I cannot bear.” Mr. Ashford was carried away by this torrent of words, and by the natural eloquence of her eyes and impassioned voice, and varying countenance. He did not know what to say. He shook his head, but when he came to himself, and found his footing again, made what stand he could. “You forget,” he said, “that all this would be of no use for yourself or your future----” “For me!” Lottie took the words out of his mouth with a flush and glow of beautiful indignation. “Was it _me_ I was thinking of? Oh, I thought you understood!” she cried. “Let me speak, Miss Despard. Yes, I understand. You would be their servant; you would work all the brightness of your life away. You would never think of yourself; and when it suited them to make a change--say when it suited Law to marry--you would be thrown aside, and you would find yourself without a home, wearied, worn out with your work, disappointed, feeling the thanklessness, the bitterness of the world.” Lottie’s face clouded over. She looked at him, half-defiant, half-appealing. “That is not how--one’s brother would behave. You would not do it----” “No; perhaps I would not do it--but, on the other hand,” said Mr. Ashford, “I might do--what was as bad. I might make a sacrifice. I might--give up marrying the woman whom I loved for my sister’s sake. Would that be a better thing to do?” Their eyes met when he spoke of the woman he loved--that is, he looked at Lottie, who was gazing intently at him; and strangely enough, they could not tell why, both blushed, as if the sudden contact of their looks had set their faces aglow. Lottie instinctively drew back without knowing it; and he, leaning towards her, repeated, almost with vehemence: “Would that be a better thing to do?” Lottie hid her face in her hands. “Oh, no, no!” she said, her sensitive frame trembling. Mr. Ashford was old, and Law was but a boy--how could there be any question of the woman either loved?