A BREAKFAST, AND — BROKEN BONES. 145 



should have an opportunity, but I'm afraid you will 

 think me a very strange girl — " 



" A very charming one." 



She did not draw herself up, nor blush now, nor 

 snatch away her hand, which had rested in his one se- 

 cond, unconscious of evil, but she withdrew it quietly 

 and said in a firm voice, with some melancholy, but 

 no anger in her large soft eyes, 



*' Why did you say that ? Oh ! I wish you had not 

 said that. You do not understand me. You treat me 

 like any merry, bold girl — larking girl, I suppose 

 you'd call it — when I would have met you as a friend, 

 because you said you were my brother's friend. Nay, 

 do not interrupt me, for I don't want apologies, they 

 are just as empty as compliments, besides there is 

 nothing to apologise for, since I know you did not 

 wish to offend me, and I am not offended. You do 

 not understand me, and it does not matter, whether 

 you do or no — that's all, and there's no more to be 

 said about it. Still I want to speak to you. It is 

 about my brother. I asked you not to mention him 

 before Papa, and I was going to tell you the reason. 

 I choose to tell you that reason now, since what I said 

 last night, if unexplained, would naturally lead you to 

 imagine something dishonorable which should estrange 

 such a father from a son — " 



But here Fairfax, who had listened thus far atten^ 

 tive and a little surprised, but unabashed, for his evil 

 pride was still in the ascendant, interrupted with so 

 brief and convincing a disclaimer of the possibility of 

 such an idea crossing his mind in reference to Charley, 

 and spoke with such earnest warmth, and with such 

 indignant truth flashing from his clear eyes, of that 

 beloved brother, that the sister's heart warmed some- 

 thing to the speaker. Still her woman's heart was 

 wounded, and she spoke sadly — 

 178 



