"Basil isn't ill in body, Ermie, only--oh, it's so dreadful. He found
the miniature."

Ermengarde flung herself back again on her bed.

"How sick I am of that stupid miniature!" she muttered.

"Well, Ermie, you want to hear the story about it, don't you? Basil
found it, and it had got cracked across, and the poor little sister,
she does squint so fearfully now, and she----"

"Oh, never mind about that," retorted Ermengarde. With all her care
there was a sort of breathless earnestness in her voice. "What did
Basil do?"

"He gave the miniature back to Miss Nelson, and of course Miss Nelson
was awfully cut up about it being broken, and just at the minute who
should come in but Aunt Elizabeth! and she got into a rage, and she
asked Basil how he had got the miniature, and how it was broken, and
Basil refused to tell, and there was such a fuss, and father was sent
for, and father asked Basil to tell, and Basil refused even to tell
father, and father took Basil away to his study, and Miss Nelson
doesn't know what happened there, only that dear darling Basil is in
disgrace."

"Of course he didn't do it," murmured Ermengarde.

"Do it, Ermie! Basil wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone do such a shabby,
shabby, cruel, mean thing as to take away Miss Nelson's dear picture.
O Ermie, I thought you at least loved Basil more than anybody, more
even than I love him."

"Yes, I do," said Ermengarde; "I love him more than anybody else in
the world. Now Maggie, if you don't mind leaving the room, as you
happen to be dressed, I'll get up."

"Yes," answered Marjorie, "I'll go away at once." She trotted out of
the room.

"I must make up my mind to do it," she said to herself when she
reached the landing. "Perhaps Ermie will believe then that I love her
a little bit. There's no help for it at all. It's just a plain case of
horrid duty, and there's no getting out of it."

Marjorie ran off in the direction of her father's room. She had to
push aside the oak doors, and she had to go softly, for Aunt Elizabeth
was now at home, and the part of the house behind the oak doors was no
longer the children's property. Marjorie ran softly down the long
corridor, and when she reached her father's door, she put her ear
against the keyhole.

"I mustn't go in until he is up," she said to herself. "I must wait
until I hear a little noise. Perhaps when he's shaving he'll have time
to listen to me."

Marjorie's little heart was now beating fast en