But, being a generous soul, he loved to give. Every few days he went up to London, and he never returned without bringing gifts to the Friary. Dulce, who was from the first his chief favorite, revelled in French bonbons; hampers of wine, of choice game, or fruit from Covent Garden, filled the tiny larder to overflowing. Silks and ribbons, and odds and ends of female finery, were sent down from Marshall & Snelgrove's, or Swan & Edgar's. In vain Mrs. Challoner implored him not to spoil the girls, who had never had so many pretty things in their lives, and hardly knew what to do with them. Sir Harry would not deny himself this pleasure; and he came up evening after evening, overflowing with health and spirits, to join the family circle in the small parlor and enliven them with his stories of colonial life. People began to talk about him. He was too big and too prominent a figure to pass unnoticed in Hadleigh. The Challoners and their odd ways, and their cousin the baronet who was a millionaire and unmarried, were canvassed in many a drawing-room. "We always knew they were not just 'nobodies,'" as one young lady observed; and another remarked, a little scornfully, "that she supposed Sir Henry Challoner would put a stop to all that ridiculous dressmaking now." But when they found that Nan and Phillis went about as usual, taking orders and fitting on dresses, their astonishment knew no bounds. Sir Harry watched them with a secret chuckle. "He must put a stop to all that presently," he said; but just at first it amused him to see it all. "It was so pretty and plucky of them," he thought. He would saunter into the work-room in the morning, and watch them for an hour together as he sat and talked to them. After the first they never minded him, and his presence made no difference to them. Nan measured and cut out, and consulted Phillis in her difficulties, as usual. Dulce sang over her sewing-machine, and Phillis went from one to the other with a grave, intent face. Sometimes she would speak petulantly to him, and bid him not whistle or tease Laddie: but that was when one of her fits of impatience was on her. She was generally gracious to him, and made him welcome. When he was tired of sitting quiet, he would take refuge with Aunt Catherine in her little parlor, or go into the vicarage for a chat with Mattie and her brother: he was becoming very intimate there. Sometimes, but not often, he would call at the White House; but, though the Cheynes liked him, and Magdalene was amused at his simplicity, there was not much in common between them.