When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front of the little house, preceded by the announcement “Mr. Aesop,” it was resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing the Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short intervals the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on the sofa, talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob Pillin muttering:  “Ye-es!  Qui-ite!  Ye-es!” and gazing at Phyllis over his collar.  And, on the window-sill, as far as she could get from all this noise, the little dog Carmen was rolling her eyes.  At sight of their visitor Jock blew one rending screech, and bolting behind the sofa, placed his chin on its top, so that nothing but his round pink unmoving face was visible; and the dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord.

Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the gracious perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to the sofa.  It was low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy Jock emitted a hollow groan.  Bob Pillin was the first to break the silence.

“How are you, sir?  I hope it’s gone through.”

Old Heythorp nodded.  His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. Larne murmured: 

“Guardy, you must try our new liqueur.  Jock, you awful boy, get up and bring Guardy a glass.”

The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his eye and filled it rapidly.

“You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used.”

In a high round voice rather like an angel’s, Jock answered: 

“All right, Mother; I’ll get rid of it,” and rapidly swallowing the yellow liquor, took up another glass.

Mrs. Larne laughed.

“What am I to do with him?”

A loud shriek prevented a response.  Phyllis, who had taken her brother by the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her injured self.

Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man with her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling: 

“Aren’t those children awful?  He’s such a nice fellow.  We like him so much, Guardy.”

The old man grinned.  So she was making up to that young pup!  Rosamund Larne, watching him, murmured: 

“Oh!  Guardy, you’re as bad as Jock.  He takes after you terribly.  Look at the shape of his head.  Jock, come here!” The innocent boy approached; with his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his perfect mouth, he stood before his mother like a large cherub.  And suddenly he blew his ocarina in a dreadful manner.  Mrs. Larne launched a box at his ears, and receiving the wind of it he fell prone.

“That’s the way he behaves.  Be off with you, you awful boy.  I want to talk to Guardy.”

The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-legged, fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp.  Mrs. Larne sighed.