Miss Fairbairn’s brow, on hearing this, contracted with pain; for John laughed again, and turning slightly towards Emily as he stood leaning against the window-frame, took the opportunity to get away from the subject of Italian literature, and ask her some question about her knitting.

“It must be something to give away, I am sure.  You are always giving.”

“But you know, John,” she answered, as if excusing herself, “we are not at all sure that we shall have any possessions, anything of our own, in the future life—­anything, consequently, to give away.  Perhaps it will all belong to all.  So let us have enough of giving while we can, and enjoy the best part of possession.”

“Dear Emily,” said Miss Fairbairn kindly, “you should not indulge in these unauthorised fancies.”

“But it so chances that this is not for a poor person,” observed Emily, “but for dear Aunt Christie.”

“Ah, she was always very well while she lived with me,” said John; “but I hear a very different account of her now.”

“Yes; she has rheumatism in her foot; so that she is obliged to sit up-stairs.  John, you should go and see her.”

“I will take Mr. Mortimer to her,” said Justina, rising serenely.  This she thought would break off the conversation, in which she had no part.

So John went up to Miss Christie’s little sitting-room, and there she was, bolt upright, with her lame foot on a cushion.  By this visit he gave unmixed pleasure to the old lady, and afforded opportunity to the younger one for some pleasant, reasonable speeches, and for a little effective waiting on the invalid, as well as for some covert compliments.

“Ay, John Mortimer,” quoth Miss Christie, with an audacious twinkle in her eyes, “I’m no that clear that I don’t deserve all the pain I’ve got for my sins against ye.”

“Against me!” exclaimed John, amazed.

“Some very bad advice I gave ye, John,” she continued, while Miss Fairbairn, a little surprised, looked on.

“Make your mind easy,” John answered with mock gravity, for he knew well enough what she meant.  “I never follow bad advice.  I promise not to follow yours.”

“What was your advice, dear?” asked Miss Fairbairn sweetly, her golden head within a yard of John’s as she stooped forward.  “I wonder you should have ventured to give advice to such a man as Mr. Mortimer.  People always seem to think that in any matter of consequence they are lucky if they can get advice from him.”

John drew a long breath, and experienced a strong sense of compunction; but Miss Christie was merely relieved, and she began to talk with deep interest about the new governess and the new housekeeper.

Miss Fairbairn brought John down again as soon as she could, and took the opportunity to engage his attention on the stairs, by asking him a question on some political subject that really interested him; and he, like a straightforward man, falling into the trap, began to give her his views respecting it.