Clara was measuring one of my over-crowded book-shelves, with a piece of string; and was apparently just about to compare the length of it with a vacant space on the wall close by, when I came in.  Seeing me, she stopped; and looked round significantly at my father, who was standing near her, with a file of papers in his hand.

“You may well feel surprised, Basil, at this invasion of your territory,” he said, with peculiar kindness of manner—­“you must, however, apply there, to the prime minister of the household,” pointing to Clara, “for an explanation.  I am only the instrument of a domestic conspiracy on your sister’s part.”

Clara seemed doubtful whether she should speak.  It was the first time I had ever seen such an expression in her face, when she looked into mine.

“We are discovered, papa,” she said, after a momentary silence, “and we must explain:  but you know I always leave as many explanations as I can to you.”

“Very well,” said my father smiling; “my task in this instance will be an easy one.  I was intercepted, Basil, on my way to my own room by your sister, and taken in here to advise about a new set of bookcases for you, when I ought to have been attending to my own money matters.  Clara’s idea was to have had these new bookcases made in secret, and put up as a surprise, some day when you were not at home.  However, as you have caught her in the act of measuring spaces, with all the skill of an experienced carpenter, and all the impetuosity of an arbitrary young lady who rules supreme over everybody, further concealment is out of the question.  We must make a virtue of necessity, and confess everything.”

Poor Clara!  This was her only return for ten days’ utter neglect—­and she had been half afraid to tell me of it herself.  I approached and thanked her; not very gratefully, I am afraid, for I felt too confused to speak freely.  It seemed like a fatality.  The more evil I was doing in secret, evil to family ties and family principles, the more good was unconsciously returned to me by my family, through my sister’s hands.

“I made no objection, of course, to the bookcase plan,” continued my father.  “More room is really wanted for the volumes on volumes that you have collected about you; but I certainly suggested a little delay in the execution of the project.  The bookcases will, at all events, not be required here for five months to come.  This day week we return to the country.”

I could not repress a start of astonishment and dismay.  Here was a difficulty which I ought to have provided for; but which I had most unaccountably never once thought of, although it was now the period of the year at which on all former occasions we had been accustomed to leave London.  This day week too!  The very day fixed by Mr. Sherwin for my marriage!

“I am afraid, Sir, I shall not be able to go with you and Clara so soon as you propose.  It was my wish to remain in London some time longer.”  I said this in a low voice, without venturing to look at my sister.  But I could not help hearing her exclamation as I spoke, and the tone in which she uttered it.