‘And pray,’ said Claude, laughing in his own good-humoured way, ‘which of us is it that she is so willing to lose?’

‘Oh!  Claude, no such thing,’ said Lily, ’you know what I meant, or did not mean.  It was nonsense—­I hope nothing worse.’  Lily felt that she might take his arm again.  There was a little silence, and then Lily resumed in a timid voice, ’I do not know whether you will be angry, Claude, but honestly, I do not think that if—­that Eleanor would be so wretched about you as I should.’

’Eleanor knew Harry better than you did; no, Lily, I never could have been what Harry was, even if I had never wasted my time, and if my headaches had not interfered with my best efforts.’

‘I do not believe that, say what you will,’ said Lily.

‘Ask William, then,’ said Claude, sighing.

‘I am sure papa does not think so,’ said Lily; ’no, I cannot feel that Harry is such a loss when we still have you.’

‘Oh!  Lily, it is plain that you never knew Harry,’ said Claude.  ’I do not believe you ever did—­that is one ting to be said for you.’

‘Not as you did,’ said Lily; ’remember, he was six years older.  Then think how little we saw of him whilst they were abroad; he was always at school, or spending the holidays with Aunt Robert, and latterly even farther off, and only coming sometimes for an hour or two to see us.  Then he used to kiss us all round, we went into the garden with him, looked at him, and were rather afraid of him; then he walked off to Wat Greenwood, came back, wished us good-bye, and away he went.’

‘Yes,’ said Claude, ‘but after they came home?’

‘Then he was a tall youth, and we were silly girls,’ said Lilias; ’he avoided Miss Middleton, and we were always with her.  He was good-natured, but he could not get on with us; he did very well with the little ones, but we were of the wrong age.  He and William and Eleanor were one faction, we were another, and you were between both--he was too old, too sublime, too good, too grave for us.’

‘Too grave!’ said Claude; ’I never heard a laugh so full of glee, except, perhaps, Phyllis’s.’

‘The last time he was at home,’ continued Lily, ’we began to know him better; there was no Miss Middleton in the way, and after you and William were gone, he used to walk with us, and read to us.  He read Guy Mannering to us, and told us the story of Sir Maurice de Mohun; but the loss was not the same to us as to you elder ones; and then sorrow was almost lost in admiration, and in pleasure at the terms in which every one spoke of him.  Claude, I have no difficulty in not wishing it otherwise; he is still my brother, and I would not change the feeling which the thought of his death gives me—­no, not for himself in life and health.’

‘Ah!’ sighed Claude, ’you have no cause for self-reproach—­no reason to lament over “wasted hours and love misspent."’

’You will always talk of your old indolence, as if it was a great crime,’ said Lily.