he
knows about anything! I hate that woman and her chattering daughter."

"Well, dear, I don't know, I'm sure; Mrs. Smith always seems to me very
kind."

He looked at her as though he had suddenly remembered something.

"I say--is it true what Amy says, that I woke you up this morning when
I went out by banging my door?"

"I'm sure you didn't.--Amy shouldn't say such things. And if you did
what does it matter? I sleep so badly that half an hour more or less
makes very little difference."

"Well, she says so--" He went on, dropping his voice: "I say, mother,
what's the matter with Amy? Why's she so sick with me? I haven't done
anything to offend her, have I?"

"Of course not. What a silly boy you are, Martin! Nine, ten, eleven ...
There! that's enough for this evening. I'll finish it in another day.
You mustn't mind Amy, Martin. She isn't always very well."

The door opened and Amy came in. She was a tall gaunt woman who looked
a great deal older than her brother. She did not make the best of
herself, brushing her thin black hair straight back from her bony
forehead. She had a habit of half closing her eyes when she peered at
some one as though she could not see. She should, long ago, have worn
spectacles, but from some strange half-conscious vanity had always
refused to do so. Every year her sight grew worse. She was wearing now
a dress of black silk, very badly made, cut to display her long skinny
neck and bony shoulders. She wore her clothes as though she struggled
between a disdain for such vanities and a desire to appear attractive.
Her manner of twisting her eyelids and wrinkling her nose gave her a
peevish expression, but, behind that, there was a hint of pathos, a
half-seen glimpse of a soul that desired friendship and affection. She
was very tall and there was something masculine in the long angularity
of her limbs. She offered a strange contrast to the broad and ruddy
Martin. There was, however, something in the eyes of each--some sudden
surprised almost visionary flash that came and went that showed them to
be the children of the same father. To Mrs. Warlock they bore no
resemblance whatever. Amy stopped when she saw her brother as though
she had not expected him to be there.

"Well, Martin," she said--then came forward and sat in a chair opposite
her mother.

"Mr. Thurston's coming to suppar," she said.

Martin frowned. "Oh, hang it, what for?" he cried.

"He's taking me to Miss Aries' Bible mee