seems not in a good humour."

"Only tired with his journey," put in the sweet little awdiator. "Is it
not so papa?"

Captain Rothesay started from a dull, anxious reverie, into which his
reading had merged, and lifted his face, knitted and darkened with some
inward care, heavy enough to make his tone sharp and angry, as he said,

"Well, child, what do you want?"

"Do not scold Olive; it was I who wished to speak to you." And then,
without pausing to consider how evidently ill-timed the conversation
was, Mrs. Rothesay began to talk eagerly about Olive's "coming out," and
whether it should be at home or abroad; finally arguing that a ball
at Merivale would be best, and entering at large on the question of
ball-costume. There was nothing wrong in anything she said, but she said
it at the wrong time. Her husband listened first with indifference, then
fidgeted restlessly in his chair, and at last subsided into an angry
silence.

"Why don't you speak, Captain Rothesay?" He took up the poker and
hammered the fire to small cinders. "Of course, you will be reasonable.
Say, shall it be as I have arranged?"

"No!" The word came thundering out--as Captain Rothesay rarely
thundered; for he was calm and dignified even in his wrath. Immediately
afterwards he rose up and left the room.

Sybilla grew pale, sorrowful, and then melted into tears. She tried not
to let Olive see them. She was still too faithful a wife to seek in any
way to turn the child against her father. But yet she wept: and drawing
her young daughter closer to her arms, she felt the sweetness of having
a child--and such a child--left to love her. In proportion as the wife's
heart closed, the mother's opened.

Ere long, Captain Rothesay sent for little Olive, to read the evening
newspaper to him in his study.

"Go, love," said Mrs. Rothesay; and she went--without fear, too; for her
father never said a harsh word to _her_. And as, each year of her life,
the sterling truth and stern uprightness of his character dawned upon
her, she could not fail to respect him, even while she worshipped her
sweet-tempered gentle mother.

Captain Rothesay made no remark, save upon the subject she was reading,
and came in with Olive to tea, just as usual. But when he had finished,
and was fast sinking back into that painful reverie which seemed to
oppress him, his weak ill-judging wife recommenced her attack. She
talked gently when speaking of Olive, even affectionately--poor