"Don't excite yourself. I was wondering whether, when you were a baby, your nose--in proportion, of course--was as lengthy and solemn as it is now." "Pshaw!" mutters Mr. Luttrell, angrily, and goes back to his original position. "If it was," pursues Molly, with a ruthless and amused laugh, "you must have been an awfully funny baby to look at." She appears to find infinite amusement in this idea for a full minute, after which follows a disgusted silence that might have lasted until dinner-hour but for the sound of approaching footsteps. Looking up simultaneously, they perceive Letitia coming toward them, with Sarah behind, carrying a tray, on which are cups, and small round cakes, and plates of strawberries. "I have brought you your tea at last," cries Letitia, looking like some great fair goddess, with her large figure and stately walk and benign expression, as she bears down upon them. She is still a long way off, yet her voice comes to them clear and distinct, without any suspicion of shouting. She is smiling benevolently, and has a delicious pink color in her cheeks. "We thought you had forgotten us," says Molly, springing to her feet with a sudden return of animation. "But you have come in excellent time, as we were on the very brink of a quarrel that would have disgraced the Kilkenny cats. And what have you brought us? Tea, and strawberries, and dear little hot cakes! Oh, Letty, how I love you!" "So do I," says Luttrell. "Mrs. Massereene, may I sit beside you?" "For protection?" asks she, with a laugh. In the meantime Molly has arranged the tray before herself, and is busily engaged placing all the worst strawberries and the smallest cake on one plate. "Before you go any further," says Luttrell, "I won't have that plate. Nothing shall induce me. So you may spare your trouble." "Then you may go without any, as I myself intend eating all the others." "Mrs. Massereene, you are my only friend. I appeal to you; is it fair? Just look at all she is keeping for herself. If I die for it, I will get my rights," exclaims Tedcastle, goaded into activity, and springing from his recumbent position, makes straight for the tray. There is a short but decisive battle; and then, victory being decided in favor of Luttrell, he makes a successful raid upon the fruit, and retires covered with glory and a good deal of juice. "Coward, thief! won't I pay you for this?" cries Molly, viciously. "I wouldn't use school-boy slang if I were you," returns Luttrell, with provoking coolness, and an evident irritating appreciation of the fruit. Fortunately for all parties, at this moment John appears upon the scene. "It _is_ warm," says he, sinking on the grass, under the weak impression that he is imparting information. "I think there is thunder in the air," says Letitia, with a mischievous glance at the late combatants, at which they laugh in spite of themselves.