How Winnie's face changed. Winthrop answered without stopping his pen. —
"When she is tired of sitting up — not until then."
"She ought to have a regular hour — and an early one."
"You are an adviser upon theory, you see," said Winthrop going on with his writing; — "I have the advantage of practice."
"I fancy any adviser would tell you the same in this case," said the elder brother somewhat stiffly.
"I can go now," Winifred said rising, and speaking with a trembling lip and a tremulous voice, — "if you want to talk about anything."
She lit a candle and had got to the door, when her other brother said,
"Winnie! —"
Winnie stopped and turned with the door in her hand. Winthrop was busy clearing some books and papers from a chair by his side. He did not speak again; when he had done he looked up and towards her; and obeying the wish of his face, as she would have done had it been any other conceivable thing, Winnie shut the door, set her candle down, and came and took the chair beside him. But then, when she felt his arm put round her, she threw her head down upon him and burst into a fit of nervously passionate tears. That was not his wish, she knew, but she could not help it.
"Mr. Landholm," said Winthrop, "may I trouble you to put out that candle. We are not so extravagant here as to burn bedlights till we want them. — Hush, Winnie, —" softly said his voice in her ear and his arm at the same time.