spoken of Olivia and himself taking up Italian together. From her manner, and from the expression on her charming face in its little black velvet hood, he saw she was doing it for Miles' sake. He loved that younger brother as well as one human being ever loved another. To have saved the boy one pang he would have done much—but he could do so little! Miles was no longer fit for field sports, society he shunned, reading he could do for himself. Pembroke felt every day the masculine inability to console. Yet here was this girl who had found something to interest poor little Miles, and was doing it with the sweetest womanliness in the world. She probably cared nothing for Italian, but Miles was fond of it.
"Wait," said Olivia, with authority, as he came up. "Don't speak a word. I must let you see how well I can read this," and she read a stanza correctly enough.
"That will do," remarked Pembroke, who knew something of Italian, "you were wise to choose that Francesca da Rimini story though. It is the easiest part in the whole book."
Olivia slammed the volume together indignantly, and drew down her pretty brows in a frown.
"You and papa are always laughing at us. Never mind Miles, I don't mind them I assure you."
Pembroke went in and remained to luncheon, as did Miles. The Colonel was in great spirits. He had had a brush on the road with Mrs. Peyton, and had been over to The Beeches.
