or had
sighed once or twice at having relinquished his favourite son to what
was dull and distasteful; but Ethel could trust that this unmurmuring
acceptance of the less striking career, might be another step in the
discipline of her brother's ardent and ambitious nature. It is a great
thing to sacrifice, but a greater to consent not to sacrifice in one's
own way.

Ethel sat up for her father, and Mary would not go to bed and leave
her, so the two sisters waited till they heard the latch-key. Ethel
ran out, but her father was already on the stairs, and waved her back.

'Here is some tea. Are you not coming, papa?--it is all here.'

'Thank you, I'll just go and take off this coat;' and he passed on to
his room.

'I don't like that,' said Ethel, returning to the drawing-room, where
Mary was boiling up the kettle, and kneeling down to make some toast.

'Why, what's the matter?'

'I have never known him go and change his coat but when some infectious
thing has been about. Besides, he did not wait to let me help him off
with it.'

In a few seconds the Doctor came down in his dressing-gown, and let
himself be put into his easy-chair; his two daughters waiting on him
with fond assiduity, their eyes questioning his fagged weary face, but
reading there fatigue and concern that made them--rather
awe-struck--bide their time till it should suit him to speak. Mary was
afraid he would wait till she was gone; dear old Mary, who at
twenty-two never dreamt of regarding herself as on the same footing
with her three years' senior, and had her toast been browner, would
have relieved them of her presence at once. However, her father spoke
after his first long draught of tea.

'Well! How true it is that judgments are upon us while we are marrying
and giving in marriage!'

'What is it, papa? Not the scarlatina?'

'Scarlatina, indeed!' he said contemptuously. 'Scarlet fever in the
most aggravated form. Two deaths in one house, and I am much mistaken
if there will not be another before morning.'

'Who, papa?' asked Mary.

'Those wretched Martins, in Lower Pond Buildings, are the worst. No
wonder, living in voluntary filth; but it is all over the street--will
be all over the town unless there's some special mercy on the place.'

'But how has it grown so bad,' said Ethel, 'without our having even
heard of it!'

'Why--partly I take shame to myself--this business of Hector and
Blanche kept Spencer and me away last disp