ing her lips to say she loved him. But her inconstant heart at the movement would pine for the stronger lover, who she felt would have her, even if both were broken in the struggle.
One day, as the brothers sat having tea with her father and herself upon the lawn of her house, Hugh spoke of their first meeting.
"I said you were like a rose," he pleaded to the girl, in a low tone. "And you spoke of thorns. I have found none."
"There are many. Ask father."
She turned to include the old man in the conversation. She dreaded sentiment from either brother when the other was there, so fierce and jealous the outsider would become. Even now their angry glances fenced across her. She felt ashamed and alarmed, thus being the object of their silent combat.
"I said," Hugh continued, not heeding her look at her old father, who was talking with his brother, "a rose must be sweetly wooed and tenderly taken possession of."
Ernest heard him and smiled.
"Ask the rose, Hugh," he said. "And in spite of the angry little thorns, it would prefer
