"Singular number, please, Mr. Morpeth," said Mrs. Fellowes promptly. "I don't think an old body like me would distract them. But I suppose he knows best, Hester, we must give in. He is very impartial, you see, he won't come to our Girls' Friendly. We must accept the scruples of an expert." Mootoo was now bringing in tea, which was daintily served on a richly carved old silver tray. The cups and saucers being of old Chelsea china, while the lovely Cutch work silver service belonged to the more artistic period of that style. "Every time I come here I ask the same question like a regular Mrs. Gamp," laughed Mrs. Fellowes. "Where do you get this delicious blend of tea? It's the most refreshing cup I ever get anywhere," and she sipped the fragrant beverage from the delicate Chelsea cup. "And those scones, aren't they perfect, Mr. Cheveril? Never did I taste their like except in the Highlands of Scotland!" Mootoo, who was serving, showed his keen gratification by a quiver of his eyelids, these scones being his special triumph, for Mootoo could cook excellently as well as do "butler" work, and with juggler-like rapidity had turned out the scones and cakes which Mrs. Fellowes declared would bring down reproaches upon her from her husband when he observed she had no appetite left for dinner. Tea being over, the older lady suggested that their host should allow them to see some of the interesting things with which his house abounded, and declared she would lead the prowl. Mark had already made the acquaintance of some of these treasures. "I was just saying to Mr. Morpeth," he remarked, "that in this Indian house he had carried out the chief function of an old country mansion at home--that of being the receptacle for storing things one cannot carry about with one in a roving life." "Yes, that's what the Colonel's always lamenting," broke in Mrs. Fellowes. "There can be no relic-gathering in the Anglo-Indian's lot. And after all, these possessions are the making of a family--collections of old letters, heirloom portraits, mementos of persons and events--why, one can't keep anything of the kind in India! I once had a lock of Prince Charlie's yellow hair--purported to be so, anyhow--among my treasures. The _poochees_ ate it in one week! No, all that sacred storing of precious things is denied to us poor wanderers over the great restless ocean," wound up Mrs. Fellowes sadly. The delightful shelves of books seemed to be calling Hester's attention, and Mark Cheveril was in his element introducing her to some of his old favourites of which she had only heard from him. Presently Mr. Morpeth was called to the verandah to see two young men who had come in to consult him about some final arrangements for the coming meeting, and Mrs. Fellowes went to converse with the parrot, who always claimed her attention on her visits to Freyville.