"I have tried to be," he answered, taking up a castle and turning it in his fingers.

"I will rewrite my book, remembering all your suggestions."

"You remember that Tennyson rewrote 'Dora' four hundred and forty-five times, that Victor Hugo declared that his six hundredth copy of 'Thanatopsis' was his best, and that George Sand was heard to say with tears in her eyes that she wished she had rewritten 'Adam Bede' just once more and you have read that Tom Brown Hughes-"

"Go away with your nonsense! I told Dr. Towne that you were my critic and that you knew every thing."

"Do you tell him every thing?" he asked, letting the castle fall upon the carpet.

"That isn't every thing."

"Will you play a game with me?"

"No, thank you. I am too tired for any thing so tiresome."

"You are ungrateful. Did I not teach you to play?"

"You did not teach me to play when I am tired."

"You have promised to write to me, haven't you?" he asked.

"No, I haven't! If you only knew how many I _have_ promised; and Aunt Theresa has a basket quilt cut out for me to make, sixty-four blocks!

How can you have the heart to suggest any thing beside?"

"How many persons have you refused to write to?"

"I just refused one."

"Am I the only one you have refused?"

"Oh, no," slipping the folded sheets into the envelope, "there is Mr.

Gesner and Dr. Greyson and Professor Towne and-"

"Dr. Towne?" His uneasy fingers scattered several p.a.w.ns over the black-and-green covering.

"Yes, and Dr. Towne! And he was very good about it, he only laughed."

"Lady Blue, speak the truth."

"About whom?"

"The latter. I am not concerned about the others."

"I told you the truth and you do not believe me. Don't you know that the truth is always funnier than a fabrication?"

"If you ask me, perhaps I will come down and stay over a Sunday with you."

"Will you? Oh, I wish you would! I expect to be homesick. Uncle Knox will be delighted to have you to talk to."

"I do not think that I shall travel fifty miles on a cold night to talk to _him_."

"Then I am sure that you will not to talk to me."

"You do not know what I would do for you."

"Yes, I do. Any thing short of martyrdom. Don't you want to go in and see John Woodstock? He is a pretty boy. There come father and mother.

You will excuse me if I do not make my appearance again to-night; you know I have been with Sue and I am so tired."

"And you will not write to me?"

"What for? You may read Dine's letters."

"Tell me true, Tessa," he answered catching both her hands, "_did_ you refuse to write to Dr. Towne?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why, may I ask?"

"For the same reason that I refuse to write to you-no, that is not quite true-" she added, "but it is because I don't want to write to either of you."

"Have all these years given me the right to ask you a question?"

He still held both hands.

She answered seriously, "Yes. You are all the big brother I have."

"Then I will not ask it," dropping her hands and turning away.

"Say good-by, then."

"Good-by."

"I have not said any thing to displease you, have I?"

"You will not write to me?"

"No, I can't. I would if I could. I will tell you-then you will understand and not care-somebody-"

"What right has somebody-"

Mrs. Wadsworth entered laughing, Mr. Wadsworth was close behind.

"Excuse me, sir; I can't stay to play to-night. Good night, Lady Blue. A pleasant visit and safe return."

An hour later Tessa was kneeling on the carpet before her open trunk squeezing a roll of pencilled ma.n.u.script into a corner.

A tap at the door was followed by a voice, "Daughter, may I come in?"

"If you will not mind the confusion."