But Sir Edward could not bring himself to do this.  Laying his hand on the curly head raised to his, he patted it as he might his dog, and said,—­

“There, there!  Now you have introduced yourself to me, you can run away.  What is your name?  Millicent, isn’t it?”

“Milly is my name.  And are all these gentlemen my uncles too?”

The tone of doubtful inquiry was too much for the little company, and Milly’s question was answered by a shout of laughter.

Again the child’s face flushed, and then a grey-haired man stepped forward.

“Come, Wentworth, this is a severe ordeal for such a mite.  I have grandchildren of my own, so am not so scared as you.  Now, little one, is that better?”

And in an instant the child was lifted by him and placed upon his knee as he took a seat by the fire.

Milly heaved a short sigh.

“I like this,” she said, looking up at him confidingly.  “Does Uncle Edward really want me to go to bed?  Nurse said it wasn’t time yet.  Nurse wanted her supper, so she sent me in here while she had it.”

“The reign of the nurse has begun,” said Sir Edward.  “Well, it may be a very fine joke to all you fellows, but if I don’t make my authority felt at once, it will be all up with me.  Lovell, be so good as to ring that bell.”

Sir Edward’s voice was irate when his old butler appeared.

“Ford, take this child to her nurse, and tell her that she is never to appear in my presence again unless sent for.  Now, Millicent, go at once.”

The child slid down from her seat, but though evidently puzzled at the quick, sharp words, she seemed to have no fear, for, going up to her uncle, she slipped her little hand into his.

“Are you angry, uncle?  What does ‘presence’ mean?  Will you say, ‘Good-night; God bless you,’ to me?”

With the baby fingers clinging to his, what could Sir Edward say?

“Good-night; good-night, child!  Now go.”

“Say, ‘God bless you!’” persisted the little one, and it was not till her uncle muttered the desired words that she relinquished her hold and followed the butler sedately out of the room.

CHAPTER II.

DAVID AND GOLIATH.

Sir Edward Wentworth was, as he expressed it, a “confirmed bachelor,” and though during the autumn months he was quite willing to fill his house with his London friends, he was better pleased to live the greater part of the year in seclusion, occupying himself with looking after his estate and writing articles for several of the leading reviews of the day.

The advent of his small niece was indeed a great trial to him, but, with his characteristic thoroughness, he determined that he would make the necessary arrangements for her comfort.  Accordingly he had a long interview with her nurse the following morning.  It proved to be satisfactory.  The nurse was a staid, elderly woman, who assured him she was accustomed to the sole charge of the child, and would keep her entirely under her own control.