o you mean?" asked Nora.

"It is no use fretting over what cannot be helped, dear. If we are
careful we can do much to lessen the danger and the misery of it all.
Mamma has been much better lately: there has been nothing--no
outbreak--since Lady Ashley came. It is possible that things may be
better. But we must keep home cheerful, dear Nora: it does nobody any
good for you and me to look miserable."

"But I feel so miserable," said Nora, beginning to cry again.

"And is that the only thing we have to think of?" demanded Janetta, with
severity.

"She is not _your_ mother," murmured the girl.

"I know that, darling, but I have felt the trouble of it as much as I
think you can do."

"That is impossible!" said Nora, sitting up, and pushing back the
disheveled blonde curls from her flushed face--she had been lying on her
bed when Janetta found her and remonstrated; "quite impossible. Because
you are not of her blood, not of her kith and kin: and for me--for all
of us--it is worse, because people can always point to us, and say, 'The
taint is in their veins: their mother drank--they may drink, too, one
day,' and we shall be always under a ban!"

Janetta was struck by the fact that Nora looked at the matter entirely
from her own point of view--that very little affection for her mother
was mingled with the shame and the disgrace that she felt. Mrs. Colwyn
had never gained her children's respect; and when the days of babyhood
were over she had not retained their love. Nora was hurt, indignant,
ashamed; but she shrank from her mother more than she pitied her.

"What do you mean by 'under a ban?'" Janetta asked, after a little
silence.

Nora colored hotly.

"I mean," she said, looking down and fingering her dress nervously; "I
mean--that--if any of us wanted to get married----"

Janetta laughed a little. "Hadn't we better wait until the opportunity
arises" she said, half-satirically, half affectionately.

"Oh, you don't know!" exclaimed Nora, giving her shoulders a little
impatient twist. "I may have had the opportunity already, for all you
know!"

Janetta's tone changed instantly. "Nora, dear, have you anything of that
sort to tell me? Won't you trust me?"

"Oh, there's nothing to tell. It's only--Cuthbert."

"Cuthbert Brand! Nora! what do you know of him?"

"Didn't you know?" said Nora, demurely. "He teaches drawing at Mrs.
Smith's school."

"Teaches--but, Nora, why does he teach?"

"He is an artist: I su