“As you like,” said the old gentleman, also rising, and placing Phronsie on her feet, observing ostentatious care to keep her hand.  “My house is open to you, Eunice,” with a wave of his disengaged hand in old-time hospitality, “but of course you must suit yourself.”

“It’s rather hard upon a person of sensibility, to come home after a six years’ absence,” said Cousin Eunice with a pathetic sniff, and once more seeking her vinaigrette in the depths of the silken bag, “to meet only coldness and derision.  In fact, it is very hard.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” said the old gentleman hastily, “I can imagine such a case, but it has nothing to do with you.  Now, if you are going to stay, Eunice, say so at once, and proceed to your room.  If not, why you must go, and understand it is no one’s fault but your own.”

He drew himself up and looked long and hard into the thin pale face before him.  Phronsie pulled at his hand.

“I want to ask the lady to stay, Grandpapa dear.”

“She doesn’t need urging,” said old Mr. King quite distinctly, and not moving a muscle.

“But, Grandpapa dear, she isn’t glad about something.”

“No more am I.”

“Grandpapa,” cried Phronsie, moving off a bit, though not deserting his hand, and standing on her tiptoes, “I want her to stay, to see me.  Perhaps she hasn’t any little girls.”

“To see you?” cried Mr. King irately.  “Say no more, child, say no more.  She’s been abusing you right and left, like a pick-pocket.”

“What is a pickpocket?” asked Phronsie, getting down from her tiptoes.

“Oh! a scoundrel who puts his hands into pockets; picks out what doesn’t belong to him, in fact.”

Phronsie stood quite still, and shook her head gravely at the tall figure.  “That was not nice,” she said soberly.

“Now do you want her to stay?” cried the old gentleman.

“Insufferable!” repeated Mrs. Chatterton between her teeth, “to mix me up with that chit!”

“Yes, I do,” said Phronsie decidedly, “I do, Grandpapa.  Now I know she hasn’t any little girls—­if she had little girls, she wouldn’t say such very unnice things; I want the poor lady to stay with me.”

Mrs. Chatterton turned and went abruptly off to the door, hesitated, and looked back.

“I see your household is in a very chaotic state, Cousin Horatio.  Still I will remain a few days,” with extreme condescension, “on condition that these Peppers are not thrust upon my attention.”

“I make no conditions,” said the old gentleman coolly.  “If you stay, you must accept my household as you find it.”

“Come, Marian,” said Mrs. Chatterton, holding out her hand to Mrs. Whitney.  “You may help me to my apartments if you like.  I am quite unstrung by all this,” and she swept out without a backward glance.

“Has she gone?” cried Jasper, hurrying in with Polly running after.  “It’s ‘stay,’ isn’t it, father?” as he saw the old gentleman’s face.