"Nothing! I wish it was less. Go wash yourself, you dirty child." Then resuming the ferocious aspect, and with uplifted cane, he advances on Billy. "William"--imitating papa's voice to a nicety--"I have not yet done with you. What, sir, did you mean by exposing your sensitive sister to the criticisms of a crowded table? If your own gentlemanly instincts are not sufficiently developed to enable you to understand how unpardonable are personal remarks, let this castigation, that a sense of duty compels me to bestow, be the means of teaching you." Billy grins, and for the third time commences his dinner while Roland leans against the window-shutter and contemplates him with lazy curiosity. "Billy," he asks, presently, "is mutton--when the fat has grown white and the gravy is in tiny lumps--a good thing?" "No it ain't," returns Billy, grumpily, and with rather more than his usual vulgarity. "I ask merely for information," says Roly. "It certainly _looks_ odd." "It's _beastly_," says Billy. "If the governor goes in for any more of this kind of thing I'll cut and run; that's what I'll do." "Why didn't you have some dumpling?" Roland goes on, smoothly. "The whipped cream with it was capital." "Dumpling?" says Billy, regarding me fixedly; "dumpling! Phyllis, was there dumpling?" "There was," I reply. "And whipped cream!" "Yes," I answer, faintly. "Oh, Phyllis!" says Billy, in the liveliest tone of reproach. The flicker of an amused smile shoots across Roland's face. "Phyllis, why did you not bring him some?" he asks, in a tone that reflects Billy's. "How _could_ I?" I exclaim, indignantly. "I could not carry more than one plate, and even as it was the gravy was running all about. I was afraid every minute I would be caught. Besides---" "Miss Phyllis, Miss Phyllis," comes a sepulchral whisper at the door, accompanied by a faint knock. In the whisper I recognize James. Having taken a precautionary peep through the keyhole, I open the door, and on the threshold discover our faithful friend, a large plate of apples and cream in his hand, and a considerable air of mystery about him. "Miss Phyllis," he says, in a fine undertone, "cook sent this here to Master Billy; and the mistress says you are to come down at once, as the master has been asking where you all are." "I am coming," I return; "and tell cook we are awfully obliged to her." Whereupon, having deposited the dainties before Billy, I charge down stairs and into the library; and, having seized hold of the first book I can see, I collect myself, and enter the drawing-room with a sedate air. "Where have you been?" demands papa, twisting his head round until I wonder his neck doesn't crack. "In the library, choosing a book." "What book." I glance at the volume I carry, and, to my unmitigated horror find it a treatise on surgery. "It is by Dr. Batly," I murmur, vaguely. "Come here and let me see it." Trembling, I advance and surrender my book.