"True, as you say, the Picture. It is all that I want. And that is striding—literally striding, I am happy, dear Miss Fleming, dear Phillis, since I may call you by your pretty Christian name. It is of my brother that I think. It is on his account that I feel unhappy."
"What is the matter with him?"
She tried very hard not to laugh, but would not trust herself to look in his face. So that he thought she was modestly guessing his secret.
"He is a great, a noble fellow, His life is made up of sacrifices and devoted to hard work. No one works so conscientiously as Cornelius. Now, at length the prospect opens up, and he will take immediately his true position among English poets."
"Indeed, I am glad of it."
"Thank you. Yet he is not happy. There is a secret sorrow in his life."
"Oh, dear!" Phillis cried impatiently, "do let me know it, and at once. Was there ever such a pair of devoted brothers?"
Humphrey was disconcerted for the moment, but went on again:
"A secret which no one has guessed but myself."
"I know what it is." She laughed and clapped her hands.