made answer, "Yes—for one."
But she did not speak, and after a moment her companion changed the subject. "That's a pretty ring," he said.
Sissy started from her reverie: "Horace gave it me. Adieu, Mr. Percival Thorne: I'm going to look at my roses."
"Thank you. Yes, I shall be delighted to come." And Percival jumped out. "Don't look at me as if I'd said something foolish. Isn't that the right way to answer your kind invitation?"
"Invitation! What next?" demanded Sissy with pretty scorn. And the pair went off together along the terrace and into the fragrant dusk.
A minute later it occurred to Mrs. Middleton to fear that Sissy might take cold, and she went to the window to look after her. But, as no one was to be seen, she turned away and encountered her brother, who had been watching them too. "Do they care for each other?" he asked abruptly.
"How can I tell?" Mrs. Middleton replied. "Of course she is fond of him in a way, but I can't help fancying sometimes that Horace—"
"Horace!" Mr. Thorne's smile was singularly bland. "Oh, indeed! Horace—a charming arrangement! Pray how many more times is Mr. Horace to supplant that poor boy?" His soft voice changed suddenly, as one might draw a sword from its sheath. "Horace had better not cross Percival's path, or he will have to deal with me. Is he not content? What next must he have?"
Mrs. Middleton paused. She could have answered him. There was an obvious reply, but it was too crushing to be used, and Mr. Thorne braved it accordingly.
"Better leave your grandsons alone, Godfrey," she said at last, "if you'll take my advice; which I don't think you ever did yet. You'll only make mischief. And there is Sissy to be considered. Let the child choose for herself."
"And you think she can choose—Horace?"
"Why not?"
"Choose Horace rather than Percival?"
"I should," said the old lady with smiling audacity. "And I would rather she did. Horace's position is better."
Mr. Thorne uttered something akin to a grunt, which might by courtesy be taken for a groan: "Oh, how mercenary you women are! Well, if you marry a man for his money, Horace has the best of it—if he behaves himself. Yes, I admit that—if he behaves himself"'
"And Horace is handsomer," said Mrs. Middleton with a smile.
"Pink-and-white prettiness!" scoffed Mr. Thorne.
"Nonsense!" The color mounted to the old lady's forehead, and she spoke sharply: "We didn't hear anything about that when he was a lad, and we were afraid of something amiss with his lungs: it would have been high treason to say a syllable against him then. And now, though I suppose he will always be a little delicate (you'd be sorry if you lost him, Godfrey), it's a shame to talk as if the boys were not to be compared. They are just of a height, not half an inch difference, and the one as brave and manly as the other. Horace is fair, and Percival is dark; and you know, as well as I do, that Horace is the handsomer."
Mr. Thorne shifted his ground: "If I were Sissy I would choose my husband for qualities that are rather more than skin-deep."
"By all means. And still I would choose Horace."
"What is amiss with Percival?"
"He is not so frank and open. I don't want to say anything against him—I like Percival—but I wish he were not quite so reserved."
"What next?" said Mr. Thorne with a short laugh. "Why, only this morning you said he talked more than Horace."
"Talked? Oh yes, Percival can talk, and about himself too," said Mrs. Middleton with a smile. "But he can keep his secrets all the time. I don't want to say anything against him: I like him very much—"
"No doubt," said Mr. Thorne.
"But I don't feel quite sure that I know him. He isn't like Horace. You know Horace's friends—"
"Trust me for that."
"But what do you know of Percival's? I heard him tell Sissy he would be out to-morrow. Will you ever know where he went?"
"I sha'n't ask him."
"No," she retorted, "you dare not! Isn't it a rule that no one is ever to question Percival?"
"And while I'm master here it shall be obeyed. It's the least I can do. The boy shall come and go, speak or hold his tongue, as he pleases. No one shall cross him—Horace least of all—while I'm master here, Harriet; but that won't be very long."
"I don't want you to think any harm of Percival's silence," she answered gently. "I don't for one moment suppose he has any secrets to be ashamed of. I myself like people to be open, that is all."
"If I wanted to know anything Percival would tell me," said Mr. Thorne.
Mrs. Middleton's charity was great. She hid the smile she could not repress. "Well," she said, "perhaps I am not fair to Percival, but, Godfrey, you are not quite just to Horace."
He turned upon her: "Unjust to Horace? I?"
She knew what he meant. He had shown Horace signal favor, far above his cousin, yet what she had said was true. Perhaps some of the injustice had been in this very favor. "Here are our truants!" she exclaimed. She and her brother had not talked so confidentially for years, but the moment her eyes fell on Sissy her thoughts went back to the point at which Mr. Thorne had disturbed them: "My dearest Sissy, I am so afraid you will catch cold."
"It can't be done to-night," said Percival. "Won't you come and try?" But the old lady shook her head.
"All right, auntie! we won't stop out," said Sissy; and a moment later she made her appearance in the drawing-room with her hands full of roses, which she tossed carelessly on the table. Mr. Thorne had picked up his paper, and stood turning the pages and pretending to read, but she pushed it aside to put a rosebud in his coat.
"Roses are more fit for you young people than for an old fellow like me," he said, "Why don't you give one to Percival?"
She looked over her shoulder at young Thorne. "Do you want one?" she said.
He smiled, with a slight movement of his head and his dark eyes fixed on hers.
"Then, why didn't you pick one when we were out? Now, weren't you foolish? Well, never mind. What color?"
"Choose for him," said Mr. Thorne.
Sissy hesitated, looking from Percival's face to a bud of deepest crimson. Then, throwing it down, "No, you shall have yellow," she exclaimed: "Laura Falconer's complexion is something like yours, and she always wears yellow. As soon as one yellow dress is worn out she gets another."
"She is a most remarkable young woman if she waits till the first one is worn out," said Percival.
"Am I to put your rose in or not?" Sissy demanded.
He stepped forward with a smile, and looked darkly handsome
