he Merrys, and Taits, and others did the same--and Father left it to
Reggie and myself, equally."

"It would be very unpleasant to you, if Reginald married a woman you
did not like--and you really approve of so few women--it is remarkable
how few----"

"Yet I have found a woman since you went away, that is perfect--as
good and clever as she is beautiful."

"Where did you find her?"

"It is my little romance. I will tell you about her after dinner."

"I am not impatient."

This kind of half-querulous conversation continued during the service
of dinner, but when the cloth had been drawn, and the wine and the
nuts promised the absence of servants uncalled for, Roberta's attitude
changed. She took a letter from her bag, and pushed it towards Neil.

"It is your letter," she said, "it came ten days ago."

"Why did you open it?"

"The word 'haste' was on it, and I thought it might be an announcement
of your mother's death, or serious sickness--not that I thought you
would care----"

"Of course, I care."

"Then you had better read the letter."

She watched his face gathering gloom and anger as he did so, and when
he threw it from him with some unintelligible words, she lifted and
put it again in her bag.

"That is my letter, Roberta, give it to me."

"You have just flung it away from you. I am going to keep it--it may
be useful."

"What do you mean?"

"Neil, you must now answer me one or two questions. On your answers
our living together depends."

He laughed softly, and said, "Nothing so serious as that, surely,
Roberta!"

"Just that. When you went to your father's funeral, you told me that
you owed your sister ninety pounds. You said it was her life's savings
from both labor and gifts, and that she had loaned it to you, in order
to make possible your final year at the Maraschal. You said further,
that your father was not a saving man, and you feared they would be
pinched for money to bury him. And I loaned you ninety pounds, being
glad to see such a touch of natural affection in you. This letter from
Christine says plainly that you never paid her the ninety pounds you
borrowed from me. Is Christine telling the truth?"

"Yes."

"Yet, on your return, you gave me a rather tedious account of your
mother's and Christine's thankfulness for the money. It created in me
a wrong impression of your mother and sister. I asked myself why they
should be so crawlingly thankful to you for paying a just debt, and I