"Will you stop crying, and listen to me?" he said.
Ermengarde managed, with a great effort, to raise her tear-stained face.
"You imagine that I have no feeling for you," continued Basil. "You are mistaken; I have, I used to put you on a pedestal. Of course you have come down from that, but still I don't forget that you are my sister, and as far as possible I intend to shield you. The discovery that I made last night shall not pass my lips. Miss Nelson must certainly get back the broken miniature of her little sister, but I am not going to tell her how it came into my possession. That's all—I'll shield you. You can go now."
Ermengarde would have pleaded still further, but Basil at that moment heard some one calling him, and ran off, uttering boyish shouts as he did so.
"He doesn't care a bit," muttered Ermie. She turned and walked back to the house.
For a time she felt stunned and sore; life scarcely seemed worth living out of the sunshine of Basil's favor. But after a time less worthy thoughts took possession of her, and she felt a sense of relief that the adventure of last night would never be known.
Marjorie came dancing down from the house to meet her sister.
"What do you think, Ermie? I'm to go away to-morrow for a whole delicious week with father and Basil! We are going to the Russells'—Basil has just told me. Isn't it perfectly, perfectly splendid!"
"I wish you wouldn't bother, Maggie. You are so rough," answered Ermengarde. "I came out here just to have quiet, and to get rid of my headache, and of course you come shouting to me."
"Oh, I'm ever so sorry—I forgot about your headache," answered Marjorie. "It's dreadful of me, I know."