"Stick to her brother, then, and let Miss Lisle alone;" and Percival stooped over his copying again. Sissy came back to the table, but as she passed the lonely figure by the chimney-piece she spoke: "You are very silent, to-night, Horace."
"I don't seem to have much to say for myself, do I?"
She took up her knitting, and after a moment he came and stood by her. The light fell on his face. "And you don't look well," she said.
"There's not much amiss with me."
"I shall betray you," said Percival as he ruled a line. "He coughed in the hall, Sissy: I heard him, three times."
"Oh, my dear boy, you should take more care," exclaimed Aunt Middleton: "I know you have been dreadfully ill."
"I was blissfully unconscious of it, then," said Horace. "It was nothing, and I'm all right, thank you.—You are very busy, Sissy: what are you worrying about down there?" He laid his hand caressingly on her shoulder. Percival and she acted brother and sister sometimes, but with Horace, whose pet and playfellow she had been as a little child, it was much more like reality.
"Only a stitch gone."
"Well, let it go: you have lots without it."
"You silly boy! it isn't that. Don't you know it would run farther and farther, and ruin the whole work if it were not picked up at once?"