“Ah!  She don’t visit her tantrums on you,” rejoined his wife.  “You can afford to smile.”

“And I does,” said Adam.

Rufus turned away.  There was no smile on his countenance.  He said nothing, but there was that in his demeanour that clearly indicated that he personally was neither amused nor disconcerted by the tantrums of Columbine.

He followed Mrs. Peck indoors, and sat down in the kitchen to await developments.  And Adam, whistling cheerfully, strolled to the bar.

Mrs. Peck had to dish up the visitor’s dinner before she could tackle him upon the subject in hand.  She trotted to and fro upon her task, too intent for further speech with Rufus, who sat in unbroken silence, gazing steadily before him with a Sphinx-like immobility that made of him an impressive figure.

The beefsteak was already in the dish, and Mrs. Peck was in the act of pouring the gravy over it when there sounded a light step on the stone of the passage and Columbine entered.

She had removed her sun-bonnet and donned a dainty little apron.  The soft dark hair clustered tenderly about her temples.

“Oh, Aunt Liza,” she said, “if I didn’t go and forget that Sally was out tonight!  I’m sorry I’m too late to help with the dinner.  But I’ll take it in.”

She caught her breath at sight of the massive, silent figure seated against the wall, but instantly recovered her composure and passed it by with an upward tilt of the chin.

“You needn’t trouble yourself to do that, my dear,” rejoined Mrs. Peck, with a touch of tartness.  “I’ll wait on Mr. Knight myself.  You can lay the supper in the parlour if you’ve a mind to be useful.  There’ll be four to lay for.”

Columbine turned with something of a pounce.  “No, there won’t!  There’ll be three,” she said.  “If that—­oaf—­stays to supper, I go without!”

“Good gracious!” ejaculated Mrs. Peck.

Rufus came out of his silence.  “That’s all right.  I’m not staying to supper,” he said.

“But—­lor’ sakes!—­what’s the matter?” questioned Mrs. Peck.  “Have you two been quarrelling?”

“No, we haven’t!” flashed Columbine.  “I wouldn’t stoop.  But I’m not going to sit down to supper with a man who hasn’t learnt manners.  I’d sooner go without—­much.”

Rufus remained absolutely unmoved.  He made no attempt at self-justification, though Mrs. Peck was staring from one to the other in mystified interrogation.

Columbine turned swiftly and caught up a cover for the savoury dish that steamed on the table.  “You’d better let me take this in before it gets cold,” she said.

“No; put it on the rack!” commanded Mrs. Peck.  “There’s a drop of soup to go in first.  And, Columbine, my dear, I don’t think it’s right of you to go losing your temper that way.  Rufus is Adam’s son, remember, and you can’t refuse to sit at table with him.”

“Leave her alone, Mother!” For the second time Rufus intervened.  “I’ve offended her.  My mistake.  I’ll know better next time.”