ee that my father has not lived an ill-spent life.'

The tea was brought and duly drunk. Mrs. Crowley asked Lucy how her
brother was. He had been at Oxford for the last two years.

'I had a letter from him yesterday,' the girl answered. 'I think he's
getting on very well. I hope he'll take his degree next year.'

A happy brightness came into her eyes as she talked of him. She
apologised, blushing, for her eagerness.

'You know, I've looked after George ever since he was ten, and I feel
like a mother to him. It's only with the greatest difficulty I can
prevent myself from telling you how he got through the measles, and how
well he bore vaccination.'

Lucy was very proud of her brother. She found a constant satisfaction in
his good looks, and she loved the openness of his smile. She had striven
with all her might to keep away from him the troubles that oppressed
her, and had determined that nothing, if she could help it, should
disturb his radiant satisfaction with the world. She knew that he was
apt to lean on her, but though she chid herself sometimes for fostering
the tendency, she could not really prevent the intense pleasure it gave
her. He was young yet, and would soon enough grow into manly ways; it
could not matter if now he depended upon her for everything. She
rejoiced in the ardent affection which he gave her; and the implicit
trust he placed in her, the complete reliance on her judgment, filled
her with a proud humility. It made her feel stronger and better capable
of affronting the difficulties of life. And Lucy, living much in the
future, was pleased to see how beloved George was of all his friends.
Everyone seemed willing to help him, and this seemed of good omen for
the career which she had mapped out for him.

The recollection of him came to Lucy now as she had last seen him. They
had been spending part of the summer with Lady Kelsey at her house on
the Thames. George was going to Scotland to stay with friends, and Lucy,
bound elsewhere, was leaving earlier in the afternoon. He came to see
her off. She was touched, in her own sorrow at leaving him, by his
obvious emotion. The tears were in his eyes as he kissed her on the
platform. She saw him waving to her as the train sped towards London,
slender and handsome, looking more boyish than ever in his whites; and
she felt a thrill of gratitude because, with all her sorrows and
regrets, she at least had him.

'I hope he's a good shot,' she said inconse