"I am six, sir; and my brother was four."

Isabel bent over the child--an excuse to cover her perplexity. "You do not know this gentleman, William. It is Mr. Carlyle, and he has been very kind to me."

The little lord had turned his thoughtful eyes on Mr. Carlyle, apparently studying his countenance. "I shall like you, sir, if you are kind to Isabel. Are you kind to her?"

"Very, very kind," murmured Lady Isabel, leaving William, and turning to Mr. Carlyle, but not looking at him. "I don't know what to say; I ought to thank you. I did not intend to use the--to use it; but I-- I--"

"Hush!" he interrupted, laughing at her confusion. "I do not know what you are talking of. I have a great misfortune to break to you, Lady Isabel."

She lifted her eyes and her glowing cheeks, somewhat aroused from her own thoughts.

"Two of your fish are dead. The gold ones."

"I believe it was the frost killed them; I don't know what else it could have been. You may remember those bitter days we had in January; they died then."