“Dick, how disagreeable you are!” and Mrs. Pinckney began to pout again.

“We are all her lovers,” he maliciously continued—­“all the men here—­Doctor Harris, Mr. Brown and—­” he bowed expressively.

“Doctor Harris?” exclaimed his sister-in-law.  This defection cut her to the heart.

“The day my namesake and godchild, little Dick, was ill I went to the nursery, as in duty bound:  you know how fond I am of that child.  There was Miss Featherstone, not the nurse, interested and concerned, sitting by the patient.  There was Doctor Harris, interested and absorbed with Miss Featherstone.  His looks were unmistakable:  I saw it at a glance.  And as for Mr. Brown, he raves about this ‘dear mees’ or ’cette chere mademoiselle’ by the hour together.  She carried his heart by storm the first time he saw her, as she did mine.”

“How far does your admiration lead you?  Do you wish any assistance from me?”

“As you please:  I am indifferent,” he returned, shrugging his shoulders.  “Seriously, Virginia—­I say this in my character of guardian and adviser-general to the family—­I think what you give her is a beggarly pittance in return for all she does, and I suggest that you raise her salary.”

Miss Featherstone, although prejudiced at first against Colonel Pinckney, grew by degrees to like him.  His manner to her was grave and respectful; he carried off the children, quite conveniently sometimes, when she was almost worn out with fatigue; and the air of friendly interest with which his dark eyes rested upon her was in a manner comforting.  Their little interviews, although she was unconscious of it, gave zest to her life.

One cold morning, as she sat before breakfast with little Harry on her lap, warming his hands before the dining-room fire, Colonel Pinckney exclaimed, “Miss Featherstone, did you have the care of that child last night?”

“Yes,” as she pressed the fat little hands in hers.

“And dressed him this morning?”

“Why, yes.  Colonel Pinckney, excuse me:  why shouldn’t I?”

“Virginia is the most selfish human being I ever knew in my life,” he burst forth.  “You, after working like a slave during the day, cannot even have your night’s rest undisturbed.  I’ll speak to her, and insist upon it that this state of things shall not continue any longer.”

Miss Featherstone looked annoyed:  “Mr. Pinckney”—­she never would, if she remembered it, call him “Colonel”—­“I beg that you will do nothing of the kind.  Mrs. Pinckney is quite ill with a cold:  she can scarcely speak above a whisper, and she required Adele’s services during the night.  I volunteered—­it was my own arrangement—­sleeping with the child,” eagerly.

“Oh yes,” he returned, “you are remarkably well suited to each other—­you and Virginia:  you give, and she takes,” sarcastically.  “Listen, Miss Featherstone.  I have known that woman twelve years—­it is exactly twelve years since my unfortunate brother married her—­and in all that time I never knew her consider but one human being, and that was herself.”