Kalliope had less time, but she had, on principle, cultivated kindly terms with the young women employed under her.  Her severe style of beauty removed her from any jealousy of her as a rival, and she was admired—–­almost worshipped—–­by them as the glory of the workshop.  They felt her superiority, and owned her ability; but nobody there was capable of being a companion to her.  Thus the sister and brother had almost wholly depended upon one another; and it was like a breath from what now seemed the golden age of their lives when Gillian Merrifield walked into the office, treating Kalliope with all the freedom of an equal and the affection of an old friend.  There was not very much time to spare after Gillian had looked at the exercises, noted and corrected the errors, and explained the difficulties or mistakes in the translation from Testament and Delectus, feeling all the time how much more mastery of the subject her pupil had than Mr. Pollock’s at home had ever attained to.

However, Kalliope always walked home with her as far as the opening of Church Cliff Road, and they talked of the cleverness and goodness of the brothers, except Richard at Leeds, who never seemed to be mentioned; how Theodore kept at the head of the school, and had hopes of the drawing prize, and how little Petros devoured tales of battles, and would hear of nothing but being a soldier.  Now and then, too, there was a castle in the air of a home for little Maura at Alexis’s future curacy.  Kalliope seemed to look to working for life for poor mother, while Theodore should cultivate his art.  Oftener the two recalled old adventures and scenes of their regimental days, and discussed the weddings of the two Indian sisters.

Once, however, Kalliope was obliged to suggest, with a blushing apology, that she feared Gillian must go home alone, she was not ready.

‘Can’t I help you? what have you to do?’

Kalliope attempted some excuse of putting away designs, but presently peeped from the window, and Gillian, with excited curiosity, imitated her, and beheld, lingering about, a young man in the pink of fashion, with a tea-rose in his buttonhole and a cane in his hand.

‘Oh, Kally,’ she cried, ’does he often hang about like this waiting for you?’

’Not often, happily.  There! old Mr. Stebbing has come out, and they are walking away together.  We can go now.’

‘So he besets you, and you have to keep out of his way,’ exclaimed Gillian, much excited.  ’Is that the reason you come to the garden all alone on Sunday?’

‘Yes, though I little guessed what awaited me there,’ returned Kalliope; ’but we had better make haste, for it is late for you to be returning.’

It was disappointing that Kalliope would not discuss such an interesting affair; but Gillian was sensible of the danger of being so late as to cause questions, and she allowed herself to be hurried on too fast for conversation, and passing the two Stebbings, who, no doubt, took her for a ‘hand.’