“Oh, but there’s the studio to run riot in, Ellen,” said Carey. “Didn’t you see? The upper story of the tower. We have put the boy’s tools there, and I can do my modelling there, and make messes and all that’s nice,” she said, smiling to Mary, and to Allen, who had just come in. “Do you model, Carey?” Mary asked, and Allen volunteered to show his mother’s groups and bas-reliefs, thereby much increasing the litter on the floor, and delighting Mary a good deal more than his aunt, who asked, “What will you do for a store-room then?” “Put up a few cupboards and shelves anywhere.” It is not easy to describe the sort of air with which Mrs. Robert Brownlow received this answer. She said nothing but “Oh,” and was perfectly unruffled in a sort of sublime contempt, as to the hopelessness of doing anything with such a being on her own ground. There did not seem overt provocation, but poor Caroline, used to petting and approval, chafed and reasoned: “I don’t think anything so important as a happy home for the boys, where they can have their pursuits, and enjoy themselves.” Mrs. Brownlow seemed to think this totally irrelevant, and observed, “When I have nice things, I like to keep them nice.” “I like nice boys better than nice things,” cried Carey. Ellen smiled as though to say she hoped she was not an unnatural mother, and again said “Oh!” Mary Ogilvie was very glad to see the two gentlemen come in from the hall, the Colonel saying, “Mr. Ogilvie tells me he thinks Armine too small at present for school, Caroline.” “You know I am very glad of it, Robert,” she said, smiling gratefully, and Ellen compassionately observed, “Poor little fellow, he is very small, but country air and food will soon make a man of him if he is not overdone with books. I make it a point never to force my children.” “No, that you don’t,” said Caroline, with a dangerous smile about the corners of her mouth. “And my boys do quite as well as if they had their heads stuffed and their growth stunted,” said Ellen. “Joe is only two months older than Armine, and you are quite satisfied with him, are you not, Mr. Ogilvie?” “He is more on a level with the others,” said Mr. Ogilvie politely; “but I wish they were all as forward as this little fellow.” “Schoolmasters and mammas don’t always agree on those points,” said the Colonel good-humouredly. “Very true,” responded his wife. “I never was one for teasing the poor boys with study and all that. I had rather see them strong and well grown. They’ll have quite worry enough when they go to school.” “I’m sorry you look at me in that aspect,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “Oh, I know you can’t help it,” said the lady. “Any more than Trois Echelles and Petit Andre,” said Carey, in a low voice, giving the two Ogilvies the strongest desire to laugh.