The rest remained at table. Minny, per force; Rosa, to take an unlimited quantity of oranges; Mademoiselle Varsini, because it was the custom to remain. But mademoiselle soon rose and withdrew with her pupils; Anthony was not showing himself a particularly sociable companion. He had not touched any dessert; but seemed to be drinking a good deal of wine. As they were going out of the room, Herbert bustled in. "Now then, take care!" cried he, for Minny, paying little attention to her movements, had gone full tilt at him. "Oh! Herbert, can't you see?" cried she, dolefully rubbing her head. "What made you so late? Dinner's gone away." "It can be brought in again," replied Herbert carelessly. "Comme il est chaud! n'est-ce pas, mademoiselle?" This last was addressed to the governess. Rosa screamed with laughter at his bad French, and mademoiselle smiled. "You get on in French as you do in Italian, Monsieur Herbert," cried she. "And that is what you call--backward." Herbert laughed good-humouredly. He did not know what particular mistake he had made; truth to say, he did not care. They withdrew, and he rang the bell for his dinner. "Mind, Herbert," cried Minny, putting in her head again at the door, "papa said you were not to quarrel." Better, perhaps, that she had not said it! Who can tell? The brothers remained alone. Anthony sullen, and, as yet, silent. He appeared to have emptied the port wine decanter, and to be beginning upon the sherry! Herbert strolled past him; supreme indifference in his manner--some might have said contempt--and stood just outside the window, whistling. You have not forgotten that this dining-room window opened to the ground. The apartment was long and somewhat narrow, the window large and high, and opening in the centre, after the manner of a French one. The door was at one end of the room; the window at the other. Anthony was in too quarrelsome a mood to remain silent long. He began the skirmish by demanding what Herbert meant by absenting himself from the office for the afternoon, and where he had been to. His resentful tones, his authoritative words, were not calculated to win a very civil answer. They did not win one from Herbert. _His_ tones were resentful, too; his words were coolly aggravating. Anthony was not his master; when he was, he might, perhaps, answer him. Such was their purport. A hot interchange of words ensued. Nothing more. Anthony remained at the table; Herbert, half in, half out of the window, leaned against its frame. When Joseph returned to put things in readiness for Herbert's dinner, they had subsided into quietness. It was only a lull in the storm. Joseph placed the dessert nearer Anthony's end of the table, and laid the cloth across the other end. Herbert came into the room. "What a time you are with dinner, Joseph!" cried he. "One would think it was being cooked over again." "Cook's warming it, sir."