"It's very good of you. Papa is better."
It was characteristic of Mabel that she invariably
called Mr. Saxelby "papa" as soon as he was
ill and suffering.

"I," repeated Dooley, with increased emphasis,
"are having tea. B'own tea."

"Why, that's famous, Dooley," said Clement,
with his hand on the child's flaxen curls.

"What's dat?" asked Dooley, pausing in the
act of conveying a spoonful of the pale cinnamon-
coloured liquid into his mouth, and thereby
inundating his pinafore.

"What's famous? Capital, first-rate, very
good. You know what that means?"

Dooley nodded. "Tibby's firs' yate," said
he, clutching his spoon after the fashion of a
dagger, and thoughtfully rubbing his forehead
with the bowl of it.

"Don't do that, darling," urged the subject of
his panegyric. "I am so much obliged to you
for coming, Mr. Charlewood. I believe papa
will be quite well in a day or two."

"And Mrs. Saxelby?"

"She is a little worn, but it is nothing. I
would send to tell her you are here, but papa
can't bear her out of his sight. And I have
just sent her a cup of tea into his room."

"B'owner tea dan mine," announced Dooley,
in an explanatory manner. "But dis ain't
white, is it?"

"No indeed; quite brown."

"Sometimes my tea is white," said Dooley, as
though impelled by a sense of candour to state
the whole case, though it was evidently a sore
point with him.

"Pray, Miss Earnshaw," said Clement,
"don't think of disturbing your mother. I have
not many minutes to stay."

"He can 'top till I go to bed, Tibby, can't
he?" said Dooley. Mabel laughed frankly, and
took the child on her knee. The maid had come
to remove the tea-things, and had brought with
her a lamp whose light was shed full on the
brother and sister. Clement thought within
himself that they made a charming picture.
Mabel in a neatly fitting grey dress, whose
subdued tone brought out the girlish freshness of
her face, and the yellow curls of the child
nestling against his sister's dark shining hair.

"I understand," said Clement, with the least
possible touch of stiffness in his manner, "that
you have been to see Corda Trescott."

"Yes," replied Mabel, quietly; "I told you I
should go, if possible."

"You went with Miss Fluke, did you not?"

"No; not exactly. Miss Fluke and Louisa
called for me at Mr. Trescott's. But I could
not have gone without their aid, certainly."

"Miss Fook," murmured Dooley, sleepily,
jerking his leg backwards and forwards; "Miss
Fook's hugly."

"Hush, Dooley. You must go to bed."

"Oo're pitty," said Dooley, critically. "So's
mamma, so's papa."

"And what do you think of little Corda,
Miss Earnshaw?"

"I think her the most engaging little creature
I have ever seen. So sensitive and gentle, and
yet so full of vivacity. I want you very much
to do me a favour, Mr. Charlewood."

"If I can," said Clement. He had not quite
got over Mabel's cool disregard of his advice.
And yet he liked her none the less for it.
Somewhat the more, perhaps. But he gave
himself no account of his feeling.

"It is this. Little Corda is fond of reading;
and I have some children's books that were given
to me long ago. I should like so much to lend
her some of them. Would you mind—I know
you are in the neighbourhood sometimes—leaving
them with her for me?"

"I will do so with pleasure. But let me,
even at the risk of offending you, say once more
that I do not think you are acting wisely in
mixing yourself up personally with these people."

"Surely Miss Fluke is a tower of strength,
Mr. Charlewood?"

"Miss Fook is a towow," observed Dooley,
with drooping eyelids.

"Dear child, you must go to bed," said his
sister, kissing him.

"I may 'top till he goes?" urged Dooley,
waving a very diminutive thumb, which was
not at all under command, in an endeavour to
point at Clement Charlewood.

"Well, one little minute, then. I really can't
see, Mr. Charlewood, why you, who seem to
have a liking for, and appreciation of, Corda,
should be so urgent against my going to see
her."

"Miss Earnshaw, if I may venture to say so,
I have also a liking for, and appreciation of,
you."

Mabel looked straight at him with clear eyes
in which there was no trace of affectation or
embarrassment. "Thank you," she said, smiling
very slightly. "Well?"

"Well, believe me it is not good for you to
seek these people. If it were only the little
girl, poor baby, I should say no word against it.
Even her father, weak and shiftless as I take
him to be, might not be utterly objectionable.
But there is a brother——"

"Yes, but I have never seen him. Stay!
Is he not singularly handsome, with the air of a
foreigner? Ah, yes; I met him coming into
the house as I left it. I should never be likely
to come into contact with him."

"God forbid! I am not speaking at hazard,
Miss Earnshaw, when I assure you that that
young man is a thoroughly worthless fellow. I
might be justified in using a stronger word.
Watty, who I am sorry and ashamed to say
has got into a set I very much disapprove of,
has lately met young Trescott at billiard-rooms,
and in much lower haunts. He is a thorough-
paced young vagabond. Keen and cunning as
an old experienced gambler. Vain and boastful
as a boy."

He continued to speak of Walter and of the
Trescotts, feeling it very sweet to have the warm
ready sympathy and quick intelligence with
which Mabel received his confidence. In the
midst of his talk, Mrs. Saxelby came in. She