"Dear me!" he said, "that I, an old man, should have received such a compliment! A young lady getting up at a prodigiously early hour, and dressing herself in her very smartest way, in order to come down and make my breakfast!" "Shall I pour out your coffee now, papa?" she said, with a great blush. "Yes, you may, my dear. But don’t put anchovy into it instead of cream. I make the suggestion because I see you are a little disturbed. It is the early rising; or the chill of the autumn; or the remembrance of last Sunday’s sermon, I daresay." She did not speak a word, but placed the coffee at his end of the table, and returned to her seat. When he had finished his cartridge-making, he sate down, and, as a preliminary to breakfast, swallowed a mouthful of the coffee. The next moment there was an exclamation of horror—he ran to the sideboard, seized a bottle of hock that had been left from yesterday’s dinner, hurriedly filled a coffee-cup with the wine, and drank off the contents—his face all the while in contortions. Dove sat silent and wilful, with a smile on her lips, and a hot flush on her cheeks. She would neither look at him nor speak to him. "Cayenne pepper!" he gasped, taking another gulp of the cold Rhine wine. She only played with her teaspoon. "You might have killed me, you malicious creature!" he cried, amid intervals of coughing. "Cayenne! Well, don’t suppose that _you_ would have got much out of my life-insurance!" At this she rose and walked to the door—proud, spiteful, half laughing, and half crying. "You had no business to tease me," she said. "Come here, Dove," he said, taking her by the arm and leading her back; "do you know what the effect of cayenne is on the human throat?" "I don’t care." "I say you might have killed me." "I don’t care." "Now, if I were a young man, I should probably be proud of such a mark of your favour, but——" "It served you right. I can’t bear people to talk to me like that, and you always do it, papa—you know you do." "But, as I am an old man, I mean to have my revenge. Firstly, there shall be no dogcart or other vehicle leave this house this day for Horton Station. Secondly, should any guest arrive, he will be asked to follow me over to the East Meadows, where I shall be shooting. Thirdly, should that guest dine with us, he will be confined to the dining-room during the entire evening, and any persons waiting in the drawing-room may play ’The Coulin,’ or such music as they prefer, for their own benefit. Fourthly——" "Fourthly, none of these things will happen," said Dove, with a touch of contempt in her tone. And Dove was right. For she herself was driven in the dogcart over to Horton Station, and she took care to make the man start half an hour before the proper time. The station-master, then and now one of the civillest of men, endeavoured to relieve the tedium of waiting by chatting to her; but she only half listened to him, and talked nonsense in reply.