," said Janetta--for once unsympathetic. "Giving up
everything means a great deal. Would you like to go away from Helmsley
Court, for instance, and live in a dingy street with no lady's
maid--only a servant of all-work--on three hundred a year?"

"I think I could do anything for a man whom I loved," sighed Margaret;
"but I cannot feel as if I should ever care enough for Sir Philip Ashley
to do it for him."

"What sort of a man would you prefer for a husband, then?" asked
Janetta.

"Oh, a man with a history. A man about whom there hung a melancholy
interest--a man like Rochester in 'Jane Eyre'----"

"Not a very good-tempered person, I'm afraid!"

"Oh, who cares about good temper?"

"I do, for one. Really, Margaret, you draw a picture which is just like
my cousin, Wyvis Brand."

Janetta was sorry when she had said the words. Margaret's arms came down
from behind her head, and her eyes were turned to her friend's face with
an immediate awakening of interest.

"Mr. Brand, of Brand Hall, you mean? I remember you told me that he was
your cousin. So you have met him? And he is like Rochester?"

"I did not say that exactly," said Janetta, becoming provoked with
herself. "I only said that you spoke of a rather melancholy sort of
man, with a bad temper, and I thought that the description applied very
well to Mr. Brand."

"What is he like? Dark?"

"Yes."

"Handsome?"

"I suppose so. I do not like any face, however handsome, that is
disfigured by a scowl."

"Oh, Janetta, how charming! Tell me some more about him; I am so much
interested."

"Margaret, don't be silly! Wyvis Brand is a very disagreeable man--not a
good man either, I believe--and I hope you will never know him."

"On the contrary," said Margaret, with a new wilful light in her eyes,
"I intend mamma to call."

"Lady Caroline will be too wise."

"Why should people not call upon the Brands? I hear the same story
everywhere--'Oh, no, we do not intend to call.' Is there really anything
wrong about them?"

Janetta felt some embarrassment. Had not she put nearly the same
question to her own father the night before? But she could not tell
Margaret Adair what her father had said to her.

"If there were--and I do not know that there is--you could hardly expect
me to talk about it, Margaret," she said, with some dignity.

Margaret's good breeding came to her aid at once. "I beg your pardon,
dear Janetta. I was talking carelessly. I will say no more ab