"Oh, no, I was going to tell you about Scott's wife."
"I did not know he had a wife."
"Oh, he hasn't any now, but Irene Mapleton is to be his wife some day.
I do not know just when, but you should see the poetry she writes.
Why, she has just stacks of it. Mama thinks it is just beautiful, but Scott says he cannot see any beauty in it. I believe you could write as well as that yourself. Mama used to write poetry, and she wrote a whole lot of it, and tried to sell it for an awful price. The editor told her that he could not take it. She kept offering it for less and less, and finally, she offered it for nothing. He would not take it at all, and then told her it was worthless and would never do to print.
Since then I do not believe she has ever tried to get her poems printed."
"I should not think she would," said Paul.
"Well," said June, looking up and tossing her head, "I do not believe I should like to be a writer. I want to be free and not sit caged up like a bird. Why, mama knows a lady in New York who makes her living that way, and I have often seen her sitting by her window away up in the third story of her house, and there she sits, day after day, all alone. Mercy! I can't see how she does stand it. It must be an awful life to live.
"I suppose one reason that mama is so determined to have Scott marry Irene is because she can write poetry. Mama is so delighted when she sees one of Irene's poems that she shows it to everybody she knows.
She is so afraid that Scott will not get Irene for a wife that she wants him to be married right away, but Scott says he has not the time to be married."
"How old are you, June?" Paul asked, looking up into her face.
"Thirteen last month."
"How long have you attended school?"
"Oh, ever since I can remember. I shall graduate when I am seventeen.
Mama has promised me the loveliest graduating dress that she can find in the city of New York."
"What is all this argument about?" asked Scott, who at that moment entered the room.
"We were only talking about going to school and being wise, that is all," said June.
"A very good subject for two little people," said Scott, smiling.
Scott sat down by June's side, as he said:
"I have come to tell you something, my little sister, which I hope you will be pleased to hear."
Paul arose, and putting his book in its place started to leave the room.
"Where are you going?" Scott asked.
"I thought perhaps you wished to talk to your sister," Paul answered, modestly.
"Your presence will not hinder me. I prefer to have you stay."
Paul went to the window and stood with his face turned away from Scott's gaze. He did not know why, but for some reason he feared that he should hear something unpleasant.
"June, I am going to be married," Scott said, turning the bright face up to catch the effect of his words.
"Oh, Scott!"
The head dropped upon his shoulder, and the tears started to her eyes.
"Why, what is the matter, little one, is there anything so terrible about that? I thought you might be pleased to hear it."
"I am pleased, only----"
"Only what?"
"I am afraid you will not care for me--or Paul either, after you are married."
Paul turned with a smile, though his face was very pale. He did not say to Scott that he dreaded far worse than did June, the presence of his wife, for it seemed to him that Scott would not care for him as he had, and though he could not tell just why, it seemed to him that he would not be as happy as he had been.
"Well, Paul," said June, wiping the tears away, "if Scott cares less for us when he gets Irene, you and I will be brother and sister."
"If you will," said Paul.
"And I hope you will agree as well as you and I have, June," Scott said.
"I hope you and Irene will agree as well as we shall--but," she added, springing upon Scott's knee, and throwing her plump little arms around his neck, "I intend to sit here while I can, for I do not suppose I shall be allowed to do so in future."
Scott's mouth closed firmly; then he said:
"June, no one shall ever come between me and my sister; remember that--not even a wife. I do not think Irene would wish to, and if she did she could not; so do not foster any such ideas. I could never love my little sister less."
CHAPTER XI.
SCOTT'S WIFE.
The wedding was over. Scott had been to San Francisco and returned, bringing his bride, radiant in diamonds and rich apparel. She was a handsome dark-haired woman, with finely-cut features and an exquisitely molded form. Her tapering fingers fairly blazed with costly diamonds. The evening reception given at the Wilmer mansion was a brilliant affair, and everyone present admired Scott Wilmer's wife, as she appeared in her rich pearl-colored satin dress and costly jewels. Mrs. Wilmer had welcomed them home the day before, highly pleased with the choice her son had made. June kissed her new sister in a loving way, and Mr. Wilmer gave her a quiet and kindly welcome.
Scott inquired for Paul, and on investigation found him in the library with his head bowed on the broad window sill, the tears dropping from his eyes.
"Why, Paul, my boy," said Scott, as he placed his hand on his head, "are you crying? What is that for?"
"For nothing," Paul answered. "I am foolish, I know, but it seems to me as though I were all alone again. I have been so happy, and you have been so kind to me."
"I can still be kind, can't I?" Scott asked, with a smile.
"Oh, sir," said Paul, "I did not mean that you would not; but----"
"But what? Do you think Irene is a tyrant?"
"Oh, no, sir! Please do not think I dislike your--your--wife. I do not know."
"Very well; dry your eyes and come to the parlor and let me introduce you."
"Please, Mr. Wilmer, I would rather not."