Patty in love showed none of her sister’s glorious fervour:  but stared obtusely, even sulkily, when Hetty hinted at her own secret and, pressing her waist, spoke of love with fearless elation, yet as of a sacred thing.

“Oh, you’re too poetical for me!” she interrupted.

This was depressing.

“And I wish I was in my grave,” added Patty, looking like a martyr in a wet blanket.

Thinking to put spirit into her, Hetty became more explicit and proved that love might find out a way between Epworth and Kelstein—­ nay, even spoke of her own clandestine meeting that very afternoon.  Her cheeks glowed.  Nor for a minute did she observe that Patty, listless at the beginning of the tale, was staring at her with round eyes.

“You mean to tell me that you meet him!”

“Why, of course I do.”

“But father forbade it!”

“To be sure he did.”

“Then all I can say is”—­Patty rose to her feet in the strength of her disapproval—­“that I call it disgraceful, and I’m perfectly ashamed of you!”

“But, good Heavens! he forbade you to see Romley.”

“But not to write.”

“O-o!” Hetty mused with her pretty mouth shaped to the letter.  “And now, I suppose, he has forbidden that too?”

“Of course he has.”

“And are you going to obey?”

“Of course I am.”

It was Hetty’s turn to stare wide-eyed.  “You are going to give Romley up?” she asked very slowly.

“Yes, yes, yes—­and I wish I was in my grave!” Patty collapsed again dismally, but sat upright after a moment.  “As for your behaviour, ’tis positively wicked, and I think father ought to be told of it!”

Hetty put out both hands; but instead of shaking her sister (as she was minded to do) she let the open palms fall gently upon her shoulders and looked her in the face.

“Then I advise you not to tell him, dear.  For in the first place it would do no good.”

“Do no good?”

“Well, then, it would make no difference.”

“You mean to—­run away—­with him?” gasped Patty, her eyes involuntarily turning towards the window.

The glance set Hetty’s laughter rippling.  “Pat—­Pat! don’t be a goose.  I shall not run away with him from this house.  I promised mother.”

“You—­promised—­mother!” Patty was reduced to stammering echoes.

“Dear me, yes.  You must not suppose yourself the only one of her children she understands.”  Hetty, being human, could not forgo this little slap.  “Now wash your face, like a good girl, and come down to supper:  and afterwards you shall tell me all the news of home.  There’s one thing”—­and she eyed Patty drolly—­“I can trust you to be accurate.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you can look father in the face—­” But here Patty broke off, at the sound of hoofs on the gravel below.

“There will be no need,” said Hetty quietly, “if, as I think, he is mounting Bounce to ride home.”