"Both of you," said Simmy sharply. "I say, come over and see me to-morrow afternoon, George,—at three o'clock. Sober, if you don't mind. I've got something to say to you—"
"No use, Simmy," sighed George.
"You are fond of Anne, aren't you?"
"Certainly. What's that got to do with it?"
"She may need you soon. You must be ready, that's all. See what I mean?"
"Moral support, eh?" scoffed George.
"You are her brother."
"Right you are," said the other soberly. "I'll be on hand, Simmy, if I'm needed. Tell Anne, will you? I'll stick it out for a few days if it will help her."
"There is a lot of good in you, George," said Simmy, engagingly. "I don't mind telling you that Lutie says the same thing about you. She has said to me more than once that—"
"Oh, don't lie to me!" snarled young Tresslyn, but Simmy did not fail to note the quickening of interest in his sullen eyes.