"Where?" Hazel repeated. "Oh, in the waiting room. Teddie bought me twelve halfpenny buns, thinking that I was going to take an earlier train, and that I should not be very late for lunch. I should be glad if I might leave them here," she went on, "It is such a bagful and, however hungry I am, I can never eat more than two halfpenny buns. Can you?" "I don’t know," returned her uncle with a grim smile. "I have forgotten. Eh, Thomas?" Thomas was so startled at this most unusually amicable address, that he nearly dropped the dish that he was in the act of handing. "Teddie knows this—this peculiarity of mine," Hazel continued; "but he is always so generous, and always likes to do things on a large scale. He said he knew I should not eat them, but nevertheless he liked to think I had them." "I suppose you engaged an outside porter?" her uncle inquired. The amazed Thomas had not seen him in so jocular a vein for years. Hazel laughed. "You would like Teddie. Everyone does, without being able to help themselves." "Humph," her uncle ejaculated. "I could give you another instance of his large-heartedness," the girl went on. "It is a good story, and not long." She proceeded to relate the incident of the quarrel with Carrots, its cause, the black eye, the beefsteak, and of her brother’s subsequent dismissal. Her uncle endeavoured to hide an interest that was manifest. "What is the boy doing now?" he asked gruffly. "He is back there," she answered. "Mr. Hamilton soon afterwards discharged Carrots and came to see us and took Teddie back." "What does he get?" her uncle inquired. "Fifty pounds a year," Hazel replied cheerily, with some pride. "He has had a rise lately—it used to be forty." Her uncle muttered something in response, then coughed to cover his words. "I beg your pardon?" Hazel apologised. Her uncle evaded the note of interrogation. "What do the others earn?" he asked. "I don’t know exactly what Cecil’s salary is," she returned. "He sends every penny home that he can afford; he is in India, you know, and it is a good lot—a couple of hundred, I should imagine. Guy and Gerald have each a hundred a year; Gerald gives up fifty of his, but Guy, who is obliged to dress better, has to keep seventy-five for himself." She paused. "There is another one, isn’t there?" Mr. Desborough asked. "Yes, Hugh," the devoted sister continued. "Till lately he had forty, like Teddie, but now he is getting a hundred too." "And what does he contribute?" "I think seventy or eighty. You see, he lives at home." "How is that?" Mr. Desborough inquired sharply. "He is a private secretary to Paul Charteris. You have heard of him, I suppose? His ground adjoins ours." "Paul?" repeated her uncle. "Paul? That was not the name, surely?" "You are thinking of the father, Philip Charteris," explained Hazel. "He died, years ago; then Vivian died, his eldest son, and now it is Paul."