With this for a text, he dilated upon the subject of Dora and foreign travel, but Miriam was not a responsive hearer.

“I wish you knew Mr. Bannister better,” she said in a pause in her brother’s remarks.  “He must have been everywhere that his sister has been, and probably saw a great deal more.”

“No doubt,” said Ralph, carelessly, “and probably has forgotten most of it; men generally do that.  A girl’s mind is not crammed with business and all that sort of stuff, and she can keep it free for things that are worth remembering.”

Miriam did not immediately answer, but presently she said, speaking with a certain air of severity:—­

“If my soul ached for the company of anybody as Miss Panney told you Dora Bannister’s soul ached for my company, I think I should have a little more to say to her when she came to see me, than Dora Bannister had to say to me to-day.”

“My dear child!” exclaimed Ralph, “that was because you were so busy with your book.  She saw you were completely wrapped up in it, and so let you take your own pleasure in your own way.  I think that is one of her good points.  She tries to find out what pleases people.”

“Bother her good points!” snapped Miriam.  “You will make a regular porcupine of her if you keep on.  I wish Mr. Bannister had given you the dog.”

Ralph was very much disturbed; it was seldom that his sister snapped at him.  He could see, now that he considered the matter, that Miriam had been somewhat neglected.  She was young and a little touchy, and this ought to be considered.  He thought it might be well, the next time he saw Miss Bannister by herself, to explain this to her.  He believed he could do it without making it appear a matter of any great importance.  It was important, however, for he should very much dislike to see ill will grow up between Miriam and Miss Bannister.  What Miss Panney had said about this young lady was very, very true, although, of course, it did not follow that any one else need be disparaged.

Early in the forenoon of the next day, Miss Panney drove to Cobhurst.  She had come, she informed Miriam, not only to see her, dear girl, but to make a formal call upon the Dranes.

The call was very formal; Miss Drane left her work to meet the visitor, but having been loftily set aside by that lady during a stiff conversation with her mother about old residents in the neighborhood in which they had lived, she excused herself, after a time, and went back to her table and her manuscripts.

Then Miss Panney changed the conversational scene, and began to talk about Thorbury.

“I do not know, madam,” she said, “that you are aware that I was the cause of your coming to this neighborhood.”

Mrs. Drane was a quiet lady, and the previous remarks of her visitor had been calculated to render her more quiet, but this roused her.

“I certainly did not,” she said.  “We came on the invitation and through the kindness of Dr. Tolbridge, my old friend.”