They went through the great doors into a vast hall, where Bee was welcomed by Sir John, a militant looking old gentleman, sharp-tongued, rather thick-headed, and very soft-hearted where his own were concerned. With him was Betty Haslem, a very pretty young woman, with affectedly languid manners, and dressed in a high-waisted, narrow-skirted Empire gown of flowered muslin. Her fair hair was piled on the top of her head, and ringlets hung down on either side. They were both prepared to be very kind to a nervous child, but Bee was not at all shy. She said she had let Ned bring her because she knew his father, and no one asked after Vere. Betty's afternoon "dish of tea" was brought in, with more solid refreshments, which Ned found he had to sit down to with Bee. He refused to touch the fruit pie which was pressed on him, then the sweet cakes too, while he felt himself growing furiously red under Betty's disdainful eyes. "I protest, uncle," she said to Sir John, "I never knew a boy to refuse everything sweet before. What ails the creature?" "He is a Methodist, Betty," said Sir John dryly, "and I believe that it's one of the articles of their faith not to eat sugar." "A Methodist! I hear of them everywhere," exclaimed Betty. "But I shall die of curiosity if someone doesn't tell me at once why the creatures won't eat sweets." "It is only sugar that Friends and many Methodists won't eat, Mrs. Haslem," said Ned flushing. "We are pledged not to taste sugar or rum till slavery is abolished in our West Indies. We use honey for sweetening." "Then you can't make pastry or light cakes," said Betty; "honey would make them soggy." "I have never tasted pie in my life, Mrs. Haslem," smiled Ned. "You can when you go to your father in Canada," said Bee, "for there they get their sugar out of maple trees, and anyhow Canada abolished slavery in 1797." Sir John asked Bee about her voyage, and she answered directly, "We had a very quick one, sir, only twenty-seven days. We left Quebec on July 14 and reached Plymouth on August 10. There were forty-two ships in our convoy, with the warship 'Primrose' to guard us from the wicked French." Sir John chatted with her, so pleased with her intelligence and fearlessness, that when at last she boldly said that she must be called by her father's name, he only laughed. "She's too fine for rough handling," he thought. "A little thoroughbred all through," he told Mrs. Betty later, "and a few years of proper English living will make her ashamed to own that she had such a scoundrel father. I'll wager that she's all Haslem, not a low drop of blood in her. Queer too, when her father was one of that crew of pirates and matricides who, with less morals than savages, fought us under Washington, and made most of our American colonies into an infernal Republic. Ay, and now in 1810, when we're fighting single-handed with that crowned hyena Bonaparte, all their sympathy is with those French assassins."