By-and-by, his aunt spoke to him, and they kept up a little side conversation, more because Bell Robson felt that her nephew, her own flesh and blood, was put out, than for any special interest they either of them felt in what they were saying.  Perhaps, also, they neither of them disliked showing that they had no great faith in the stories Kinraid was telling.  Mrs. Robson, at any rate, knew so little as to be afraid of believing too much.

Philip was sitting on that side of the fire which was nearest to the window and to Sylvia, and opposite to the specksioneer.  At length he turned to his cousin and said in a low voice—­

’I suppose we can’t go on with our spell at geography till that fellow’s gone?’

The colour came into Sylvia’s cheek at the words ‘that fellow’; but she only replied with a careless air—­

’Well, I’m one as thinks enough is as good as a feast; and I’ve had enough of geography this one night, thank you kindly all the same.’

Philip took refuge in offended silence.  He was maliciously pleased when his aunt made so much noise with her preparation for supper as quite to prevent the sound of the sailor’s words from reaching Sylvia’s ears.  She saw that he was glad to perceive that her efforts to reach the remainder of the story were baulked! this nettled her, and, determined not to let him have his malicious triumph, and still more to put a stop to any attempt at private conversation, she began to sing to herself as she sat at her work; till, suddenly seized with a desire to help her mother, she dexterously slipped down from her seat, passed Hepburn, and was on her knees toasting cakes right in front of the fire, and just close to her father and Kinraid.  And now the noise that Hepburn had so rejoiced in proved his foe.  He could not hear the little merry speeches that darted backwards and forwards as the specksioneer tried to take the toasting-fork out of Sylvia’s hand.

‘How comes that sailor chap here?’ asked Hepburn of his aunt.  ’He’s none fit to be where Sylvia is.’

‘Nay, I dunnot know,’ said she; ’the Corneys made us acquaint first, and my master is quite fain of his company.’

‘And do you like him, too, aunt?’ asked Hepburn, almost wistfully; he had followed Mrs. Robson into the dairy on pretence of helping her.

’I’m none fond on him; I think he tells us traveller’s tales, by way o’ seeing how much we can swallow.  But the master and Sylvia think that there never was such a one.’

‘I could show them a score as good as he down on the quayside.’

’Well, laddie, keep a calm sough.  Some folk like some folk and others don’t.  Wherever I am there’ll allays be a welcome for thee.’