“Got a new fishing-rod,” said Billy, but to John’s amusement did not pursue the story concerning which George Grey had gleefully enlightened him.

“Well, at last, Cousin George,” she cried, as the cousin gave her his hand on the porch.  “Glad to see you—­most glad.  Come in when you have finished your cigar.”

She followed John into the hall.  “Ah! the dear home.”  Then her eyes fell on the much used spittoon by the fireside.  “Good gracious, John, a—­a spittoon!”

“Yes, aunt.  Mr. Grey chews.”

“Indeed!” She looked at the box and went upstairs.  For years to come and in the most incongruous surroundings John Penhallow now and then laughed as he saw again the look with which Mrs. Ann regarded the article so essential to Mr. Grey’s comfort.  She disliked all forms of tobacco use, and the law of the pipe had long ago been settled at Grey Pine as Mrs. Penhallow decreed, because that was always what James Penhallow decided to think desirable.

“But this! this!” murmured the little lady, as she came down the staircase ready for dinner.  She rang for the maid.  “Take that thing away and wash it well, and put in fresh sawdust twice a day.”

“I hope John has been a good host,” she said, as Grey entered the hall.

“Couldn’t be better, and I have had some delightful rides.  I found the mills interesting—­in fact, most instructive.”  He spoke in short childlike sentences unless excited by politics.

Mrs. Ann noted without surprise the free use of whisky, and later the appreciative frequency of resort to Penhallow’s Madeira.  A glass of wine at lunch and after dinner were her husband’s sole indulgence.  The larger potations of her cousin in no way affected him.  He talked as usual to Mark Rivers and John about horses, crops and the weather, while Mrs. Ann listened to the flow of disconnected trifles in some wonder as to how James Penhallow would endure it.  Grey for the time kept off the danger line of politics, having had of late such variously contributed knowledge as made him careful.

When to Mrs. Ann’s relief dinner was over, the rector said his sermon for to-morrow must excuse him and went home.  John decided that his role of host was over and retired to his algebra and to questions more easy to solve than of how to entertain Mr. George Grey.  It was not difficult, as Mrs. Penhallow saw, to make Grey feel at home; all he required was whisky, cigars, and some mild appearance of interest in his talk.  She had long anticipated his visit with pleasure, thinking that James Penhallow would be pleased and the better for some rational male society.  Rivers had now deserted her, and she really would not sit with her kinsman’s cigar a whole evening in the library.  She said, “The night is warm for October, come out onto the porch, George.”

“With all the pleasure in the world,” said Grey, as he followed her.

By habit and training hospitable and now resigned to her fate, Mrs. Ann said, “Light your cigar, George; I do not mind it out-of-doors.”