," says Miss Scrope,
rising to ring the bell. "When Collins comes in he will see to it."

It is a wild day, though warm and sweet, and the wind outside is
tearing madly over lawn and shrubberies into the wood beyond.

"But in the mean time you will perhaps catch cold, of rheumatism, or
something," says Clarissa, hesitating.

"Rheumatism! pugh! nonsense!" says Miss Scrope, disdainfully. "I
simply don't believe in rheumatism. It is nothing but nerves. I don't
have those ridiculous pains and aches people hug nowadays, and I don't
believe they have either; it employs their idle time trying to invent
them."

"Is Jim in?" asks Clarissa, presently, having seated herself in a
horribly comfortless but probably artistic chair.

"_James is_ in," says Miss Scrope, severely. "Do you mean my brother?
It is really almost impossible to understand young people of the
present age."

"Don't you like the name Jim?" asks Clarissa, innocently, leaning
slightly forward, and taking up the edge of Miss Scrope's last
antimacassar to examine it with tender interest. "I think it such a
dear little name, and so happily wanting in formality. I have never
called him anything else since I can remember, so it comes most
naturally to me."

"I think it a most unmaidenly way of addressing any gentleman whose
priest christened him James," says Miss Scrope, unflinchingly. "What
would you think of him were he to call you by some hideous pet name,
or, more properly speaking, nickname?"

"I shouldn't mind it in the least; indeed, I think I should rather
like it," returns Clarissa, mildly.

"I believe that to be highly probable," retorts Miss Jemima, with
considerable scorn.

Clarissa laughs,--not an irritating laugh, by any means, but a little
soft, low, girlish laugh, very good to hear.

"If you scold me any more I shall cry," she says, lightly. "I always
give way to tears when driven into a corner. It saves time and
trouble. Besides," returning with some slight perversity to the
charge, "shall I tell you a secret? Your brother likes that little
name. He does, indeed. He has told me so a thousand times in the days
gone by. Very frivolous of him, isn't it? But--ah! here he is," as the
door opens, and Sir James comes in. "You are a little late, are you
not?" leaning back in her chair with a certain amount of languid, but
pleasing, grace, and holding out to him a slender ungloved hand, on
which some rings sparkle brilliantly.

"Have I kept you w