"Please don't tease me, uncle dear," she whispered, as she laid her head upon his shoulder, and hid her burning face. "I won't then," he said; but she could feel him chuckling as he went on. "I say though, Sage. I've been thinking one ought to have asked him to come and stay here for a few days. Very hospitable, eh? But hardly conventual. That's not right, is it, schoolmistress? No, no; I mean conventional. No you don't. I've got you tight," for Sage had tried to run away. "Then please don't tease me, uncle." "But what will old Vinnicombe say?" "Uncle dear," she whispered, appealingly. "There then, my pet, I won't," he said. "What time do you expect Jack and Rue?" "By about four o'clock, uncle dear." "That's right, my pet, and now you must bustle. See that there's plenty of jolly good fires, for I hate people to come and find the place chilly. Let's give 'em a warm reception, and I'll see if I can't fill up some of old Vinnicombe's wrinkles out of his face. Let me see, I want some more tobacco. Hah!" he cried, after a deep draught, "that's good ale. Taste it, pet." Sage took the tankard with a smile, raised the creaking lid, and put her lips to it to please him. "Fine, ain't it, lass?" "Capital, uncle." "I say, Sage, if that don't make old Vinnicombe smile I'm a Dutchman. By the way, my dear, shall I ask Cyril Mallow to drop in?" "Uncle!" cried Sage, turning pale. "Well, why not? He has no pride in him, not a bit. And if he wants gentlemen to meet, why, there's Paulby and Vinnicombe. Hang it all, my girl, if I liked to set up for a gentleman I dare say I could, after you had toned me down and mended my manners, and oiled my axles with grammar grease, eh?" "Oh, no, no, uncle; don't think of it," she said, imploringly. "Just as you like, my dear; 'tis your party like, and it's for you to choose. He is a bit cocky and priggish, and a bit gallant, but my darling knows how to keep him in his place." "Oh, yes, uncle, of course," said Sage, hastily; "but Rue will be here, you know, and it might set her thinking of his brother Frank." "Hah! Yes; I had forgotten that," said the Churchwarden, thoughtfully. "To be sure! she did think a little about him, didn't she? Hullo!" "I want Sage," cried Mrs Portlock down the stairs. "Yes, aunt, dear." "Hold that wrapper to the fire, my dear, ready for your uncle," and she threw down a great white cashmere belcher to her niece. "Here! Hoi! I say, old girl, I'm not going to wear that thing." "Yes, dear, it's a very long drive, and the air is very cold." The Churchwarden sank into a chair, and, raising the lid of the tankard, gazed into it despondently. "Tyranny, tyranny, tyranny!" he groaned. "Oh! why did I ever marry such a woman as this?"