"But you never said you had a sister."
Max seized upon his bravado, flinging it round him as a garment.
"Mon ami," he cried, "we are not all as confiding as you! Besides, it is not given to us all to possess five aunts, seven uncles, and twenty-four first cousins! If I have but one sister, may I not guard her as a secret?"
He spoke fast; his eyes flashed with the old light, half pleading, half impertinent, his chin was lifted with the old defiant tilt. The effect was gained. Blake's severity fell from him, and with a quick gesture of affection he caught him by the shoulder.
"I'm well reproved!" he said. "Well reproved! 'Twas quite the right way of telling me to mind my own affairs. And if she were my sister—" He turned again to the picture, but as his eyes met the mirrored eyes with their profound, inscrutable look, his words broke off unaccountably.
"Yes, mon ami? If she were your sister—?" Max, with eager, stealthy glance, was following his expressions.
But he did not answer; he stood lost in contemplation, speculating, he knew not why, upon the question in the mirrored face.