you may win out," was his opinion. "But you can't be
sure. Evelyn's not much of a bragger, but she seems to be a pretty
well-educated girl."

"Just, be careful!" warned Charlotte, in his ear, as she drew him gently
to one side. "I know you don't like her, but you must be considerate of
her."

"I don't feel much like it."

"You know I want your help about Lucy." Charlotte had drawn him still
farther away, so that she could speak with safety. "But you know, too,
that snubbing isn't a way to get hold of anybody."

"It's the only way with conceited softies," began Just.

But Charlotte caught his hand and squeezed it. "No, it isn't. I'm sure
she's worth being friends with, and if she can learn certain things you
can teach her in the way of athletics, and reading, and all that, you
can do her lots of good."

"Don't feel a bit like being a missionary!" growled Just. "Suppose I've
got to try it, to please you. Evelyn's all right, isn't she?"

"Yes, she's a dear. I'm so glad we kept her. That makes me realise she's
had quite enough excitement for to-night. I must carry her off to bed.
Perhaps you'd all better--"

"No, you don't!" said Just, with a rebellious laugh. "Just because
you've set up a sanatorium and a kindergarten you can't send your
brothers off to bed at nine o'clock. I want a good visit with you after
the infants and invalids are in bed."

"All right, big boy," promised Charlotte, rejoicing in the affectionate
look he gave her.

She had been anxious that her marriage should in no way interfere with
the old brotherly and sisterly relations, and it was a long time since
she had had a confidential talk with her youngest brother. Jeff was
always coming to her precisely as in the old days, with demands for
interest and advice; but Just had seemed a little farther away.

So when she had seen the "infants and invalids" happily gone to rest,
and after a quiet hour of family talk about the fireside had said
good-night to all the others, Charlotte turned to Just with a look of
welcome as fresh and inviting as if the evening had but now begun.
Doctor Churchill had gone to make a bedtime call upon a patient
critically ill, and the two were quite alone.

"This is jolly," said Just, settling himself on a couch pillow at her
feet, his long legs stretched out to the fire, his head resting against
his sister's knee. "Now I'm going to tell you everything that's happened
to me since you were married. Not that there's a