studio with a hurt wing; he brought it very gently in his
handkerchief--he is very kind, the bird was not even frightened of him.
You did not know about that, Chris?"

Chris flushed a little, and said in a hurt voice

"I don't see what it has to--do with me."

"No," assented Greta.

Christian's colour deepened. "Go on with your history, Greta."

"Only," pursued Greta, "that he always tells you all about things,
Chris."

"He doesn't! How can you say that!"

"I think he does, and it is because you do not make him angry. It is
very easy to make him angry; you have only to think differently, and he
shall be angry at once."

"You are a little cat!" said Christian; "it isn't true, at all. He hates
shams, and can't bear meanness; and it is mean to cover up dislikes and
pretend that you agree with people."

"Papa says that he thinks too much about himself."

"Father!" began Christian hotly; biting her lips she stopped, and turned
her wrathful eyes on Greta.

"You do not always show your dislikes, Chris."

"I? What has that to do with it? Because one is a coward that doesn't
make it any better, does it?"

"I think that he has a great many dislikes," murmured Greta.

"I wish you would attend to your own faults, and not pry into other
people's," and pushing the book aside, Christian gazed in front of her.

Some minutes passed, then Greta leaning over, rubbed a cheek against her
shoulder.

"I am very sorry, Chris--I only wanted to be talking. Shall I read some
history?"

"Yes," said Christian coldly.

"Are you angry with me, Chris?"

There was no answer. The lingering raindrops pattered down on the roof.
Greta pulled at her sister's sleeve.

"Look, Chris!" she said. "There is Herr Harz!"

Christian looked up, dropped her eyes again, and said: "Will you go on
with the history, Greta?"

Greta sighed.

"Yes, I will--but, oh! Chris, there is the luncheon gong!" and she
meekly closed the book.

During the following weeks there was a "sitting" nearly every afternoon.
Miss Naylor usually attended them; the little lady was, to a certain
extent, carried past objection. She had begun to take an interest in the
picture, and to watch the process out of the corner of her eye; in the
depths of her dear mind, however, she never quite got used to the vanity
and waste of time; her lips would move and her knitting-needles click in
suppressed remonstrances.

What Harz did fast he did best; if he had leisure he "saw