ve turned from the brother to the
sister, justifying Percival.

It was well for Percival that Judith's friendly smile and occasional
greeting made bright moments in his life, since he had no more of
Lydia's attentions. Poor grimy little Emma waited on him wearily, and
always neglected him if the Lisles wanted her. She had apparently laid
in an immense stock of goods, for she never went shopping now, but
stayed at home and let his fire go out, and was late and slovenly with
his meals. There was no great dishonesty, but his tea-caddy was no
longer guarded and provisions ceased to be mysteriously preserved.
Miss Bryant seldom met him on the stairs, and when she did she
flounced past him in lofty scorn. Her slighted love had turned to
gall. She was bitter in her very desire to convince herself that she
had never thought of Mr. Thorne. She neglected to send up his letters;
she would not lift a finger to help in getting his dinner ready; and
if Emma happened to be out of the way she would let his bell ring and
take no notice. Yet she would have been very true to him, in her own
fashion, if he would have had it so: she would have taken him for
better, for worse--would have slaved for him and fought for him,
and never suffered any one else to find fault with him in any way
whatever. But he had not chosen that it should be so, and Lydia
had reclaimed her heart and her pocket edition of the _Language of
Flowers_, and now watched Percival and Miss Lisle with spiteful
curiosity.

"I shall be late at Standon Square this evening: Miss Crawford wants
me," said Judith one morning to her brother.

"I'll come and meet you," was his prompt reply. "What time? Don't let
that old woman work you into an early grave."

"There's no fear of that. I'm strong, and it won't hurt me. Suppose
you come at half-past nine: you must have your tea by yourself, I'm
afraid."

"That's all right," he answered cheerfully.

"'That's all right?' What do you mean by that, sir?"

"I mean that I don't at all mind when you don't come back to tea. I
think I rather prefer it. There, Miss Lisle!"

"You rude boy!" She felt herself quite justified in boxing his ears.

"Oh, I say, hold hard! Mind my violets!" he exclaimed.

"Your violets? Oh, how sweet they are!" And bending forward, Judith
smelt them daintily. "Where did you get them, Bertie?"

"Ah! where?" And Bertie stood before the glass and surveyed himself.
The cheap lodging-house mirror cast a greenis