Mr. Bullsom abandoned his position precipitately, and his face expressed his lively satisfaction.

“Ah!” he exclaimed.  “I was hoping that you would have a bite for me.  As I said to Mr. Brooks when I asked him to drop in with me, there’s sure to be something to eat.  And I can tell you I’m about ready for it.”

Brooks found an opportunity to speak almost for the first time.  He was standing between the two Misses Bullsom, and already they had approved of him.  He was distinctly of a different class from the casual visitors whom their father was in the habit of introducing into the family circle.

“Mr. Bullsom was kind enough to take pity on an unfortunate bachelor,” he said, with a pleasant smile.  “My landlady has few faults, but an over-love of punctuality is one of them.  By this time she and her household are probably in bed.  Our meeting lasted a long time.”

“If you will touch the bell, Peter,” Mrs. Bullsom remarked, “Ann shall dish up the supper.”

The young ladies exchanged shocked glances.  “Dish up.”  What an abominable phrase!  They looked covertly at their guest, but his face was imperturbable.

“We think that we have been very considerate, Mr. Brooks,” Selina remarked, with an engaging smile.  “We gave up our usual dinner this evening as papa had to leave so early.”

Mr. Brooks smiled as he offered his arm to Mrs. Bullsom—­a courtesy which much embarrassed her.

“I think,” he said, “that we shall be able to show you some practical appreciation of your thoughtfulness.  I know nothing so stimulating to the appetite as politics, and to-day we have been so busy that I missed even my afternoon tea.”

“I’m sure that we are quite repaid for giving up our dinner,” Selina remarked, with a backward glance at the young man.  “Oh, here you are at last, Mary.  I didn’t hear you come in.”

“My niece, Miss Scott,” Mr. Bullsom announced.  “Now you know all the family.”

A plainly-dressed girl with dark eyes and unusually pale cheeks returned his greeting quietly, and followed them into the dining-room.  Mrs. Bullsom spread herself over her seat with a little sigh of relief.  Brooks gazed in silent wonder at the gilt-framed oleographs which hung thick upon the walls, and Mr. Bullsom stood up to carve a joint of beef.

“Plain fare, Mr. Brooks, for plain people,” he remarked, gently elevating the sirloin on his fork, and determining upon a point of attack.  “We don’t understand frills here, but we’ve a welcome for our friends, and a hearty one.”

“If there is anything in the world better than roast beef,” Brooks remarked, unfolding his serviette, “I haven’t found it.”

“There’s one thing,” Mr. Bullsom remarked, pausing for a moment in his labours, “I can give you a good glass of wine.  Ann, I think that if you look in the right-hand drawer of the sideboard you will find a bottle of champagne.  If not I’ll have to go down into the cellar.”