‘What allusion?’ asked Lily in alarm, for she had never seen her gentle brother so angry.

‘You know,’ said he.

‘Indeed, I do not,’ exclaimed Lily, munch frightened.  ’Claude, Claude, you must mistake, I never could have said anything so very shocking.’

‘I hope I do,’ said Claude; ’I could hardly believe that one of the little ones who cannot remember him, could have referred to him in that way—­but for you!’

‘Him?’ said Lilias.

’I do not like to mention his name to one who regards him so lightly,’ said Claude.  ’Think over what passed, if you are sufficiently come to yourself to remember it.’

After a little pause Lily said in a subdued voice, ’Claude, I hope you do not believe that I was thinking of what really happened when I said that.’

‘Pray what were you thinking of?’

‘The abstract view of Eleanor’s character.’

‘Abstract nonsense!’ said Claude.  ’A fine demonstration of the rule of love, to go about the world slandering your sister!’

’To go about the world!  Oh!  Claude, it was only Robert, one of ourselves, and Alethea, to whom I tell everything.’

’So much the worse.  I always rejoiced that you had no foolish young lady friend to make missish confidences to.’

‘She is no foolish young lady friend,’ said Lilias, indignant in her turn; ’she is five years older than I am, and papa wishes us to be intimate with her.’

‘Then the fault is in yourself,’ said Claude.  ’You ought not to have told such things if they were true, and being utterly false—­’

‘But, Claude, I cannot see that they are false.’

‘Not false, that Eleanor cared not a farthing for Harry!’ cried Claude, shaking off Lily’s arm, and stopping short.

‘Oh!—­she cared, she really did care,’ said Lily, as fast as she could speak.  ’Oh!  Claude, how could you think that?  I told you I did not mean what really happened, only that—­Eleanor is cold—­not as warm as some people—­she did care for him, of course she did—­I know that—­I believe she loved him with all her heart—­but yet—­I mean she did not—­she went on as usual—­said nothing—­scarcely cried—­looked the same—­taught us—­never—­Oh! it did not make half the difference in her that it did in William.’

‘I cannot tell how she behaved at the time,’ said Claude, ’I only know I never had any idea what a loss Harry was till I came home and saw her face.  I used never to trouble myself to think whether people looked ill or well, but the change in her did strike me.  She was bearing up to comfort papa, and to cheer William, and to do her duty by all of us, and you could take such noble resignation for want of feeling!’

Lilias looked down and tried to speak, but she was choked by her tears; she could not bear Claude’s displeasure, and she wept in silence.  At last she said in a voice broken by sobs, ’I was unjust—­ I know Eleanor was all kindness—­all self-sacrifice—­I have been very ungrateful—­I wish I could help it—­and you know well, Claude, how far I am from regarding dear Harry with indifference—­how the thought of him is a star in my mind—­how happy it makes me to think of him at the end of the Church Militant Prayer; do not believe I was dreaming of him.’