“It is nothing that I can tell,” said Harry, huskily.
“Harry—even if I cannot help it, or remove it—it is better that I should know what is making you so unhappy. Harry, is it—it is not Lilias?”
He did not answer her.
“Harry, Harry! Do not say that this great sorrow has fallen upon us, upon you, too.”
She drew back that he might not feel how she was trembling. In a little she said,—
“Brother, speak to me. What shall I say to you, my poor Harry?”
But Harry was not in a mood to be comforted. He rose and confronted her.
“I think the most appropriate remark for the occasion would be that I am a fool, and deserve to suffer for my folly. You had better say that to me, Graeme.”
But something in his sister’s face stopped him. His lips trembled, and he said,—
“At any rate, it isn’t worth your looking so miserable about.”