“Oh, auntie, is this your own, own room?  Does the cross old man ever come here?  Are all those books yours—­and the funny little table with the crooked legs?  Who is the man in a wig?” cried Cecil.  “Mightn’t we stay with you? we would be so quiet?  Mother says we are dreffully troublesome since you went away.  We could both sleep with you in that great big bed!  The cross old gentleman would never know.  It would be such fun!  Do, do, let us stay, auntie!”

“But I am afraid of the old gentleman,” whispered the younger boy.  “Does he ever hurt you, auntie dear?  I wish you would come home.”

“Charlie is such a coward,” said Cecil, with contempt.

“Don’t talk nonsense, children,” exclaimed their mother, peremptorily.  “I should die of fright if I thought you were left behind with that ogre. I wouldn’t sacrifice my children for the sake of filthy lucre.”

“Do not talk nonsense, Ada?” said Katherine, impatiently.  “I am infinitely distressed that my uncle should have behaved so rudely, but he is really eccentric, and if you had consulted—­”

“He is the boys’ uncle as well as yours,” interrupted Ada, indignantly.  “Why should they not come and see him?  How was I to suppose he was such an unnatural monster?”

“I always told you he was very peculiar.”

“Peculiar! that is a delicate way of putting it.  If I were you I should be ashamed of wasting my time and my youth acting servant to an old miser who will not leave you a sou!”

“No, I don’t suppose he will,” returned Katherine, quietly.  “Still, I am not the least ashamed of what I am doing; I am quite satisfied with my own motives.”

“Oh, you are always satisfied with yourself, I know,” was the angry answer, “But”—­with a slight change of tone—­“I am sorry to see you look so pale and ill, though you deserve it.”

“Never mind, Ada.  Take off your bonnet and sit down.  I will get you a cup of tea.”

“Tea! no, certainly not!  Do you think me so mean as to taste a mouthful of food in this house after being ordered out of it?”

“Oh, I am so hungry!” cried Cecil, in mournful tones.

“You are a little cormorant:  Grannie will give you nice tea when we get home.  Put on your gloves, children, I shall go at once.”

“Do come back with us, auntie,” implored the boys.  “Grannie wants you ever so much.”

“Not more than I want her,” returned Katherine.  “How is she, Ada?”

“Oh, very well; just the same as usual.  People who are not sensitive have a great deal to be thankful for. I feel quite upset by this encounter with your amiable relative, so I will say good-by.”

“Oh, wait for me; I will come with you.  Let me put on my hat and tell Mr. Liddell I am going out.”

“Of course you must ask the master’s leave!”

“Exactly,” returned Katherine, good-humoredly.  And she put on her hat and gloves.