His sister’s tone was anguished.  Before he answered Brown led her into the library of the suite, the room in which he had been occupied when her ring came, and put her into a big arm-chair, taking from her her wrap and furs.  Then he sat down upon the edge of a massive mahogany writing-table near by, crossing his long legs and folding his arms, while she mutely waited for him to speak.

“Sue,” he said—­and his face had in it a sort of reflection of the pain in hers—­“you may be sure I haven’t come to this decision without a deal of thought.  But I’ve made it, and I’m going to stick to it because I believe it’s the thing for me to do.  I assure you that since I came into these rooms they have been beseeching me, as loudly as inanimate things can not to desert them.  I’m going to find it the hardest task of my life to take leave of them.”

“Don’t take leave of them!  Lock them up for another year, if you must persist in your experiment, but don’t, don’t burn your bridges behind you!  Oh, how can you think of leaving your splendid church and going off to consign yourself to oblivion, living with poor people the rest of your days?  You—­you—­Don!—­I can’t believe it of you!”

His face, in his effort at repression, grew stern.  His folded arms became tense in the muscles.

“Don’t make it harder for me than it is.  I can’t discuss it with you, because though I argued till I was dumb I could never make you see what I see.  Accept my decision, Sue dear, and don’t try my soul by pleading with me....  I have a lot to do.  I should like your help.  See here, would you care to have any of my things?  Look about you.  This is rather a good rug under your feet.  Will you have it—­and any others you fancy?”

She looked down at the heavy Eastern rug, exquisite in its softness and richness of colouring.

It was one of which, knowing its value, she had long envied her brother the possession.  She put up her hand and brushed away the mist from her eyes.

“Aren’t you going to take any comfortable things with you?  Are you going to go on living on pine chairs and rag carpets—­you, who were brought up on rugs like this?”

He nodded.  “For the most part.  I’ve been wondering if I might indulge myself in one big easy chair, just for old times.  But I’m afraid it won’t do.”

“Oh, mercy, Don!  Why not?”

“How should I explain its presence, opposite my red-cushioned rocker?  Give it a good look, Sue, that chair, and tell me honestly if I can afford to introduce such an incongruous note into my plain bachelor house up there.”

She surveyed the chair in question, a luxurious and costly type standing for the last word in masculine comfort and taste.  It was one which had been given to Brown by Webb Atchison, and had long been a favourite.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said hopelessly, shaking her head.  “I can’t decide for any monk what he shall take into his cell.”