“No!” exclaimed the doctor fiercely. The two words, and the manner of pronouncing them, were characteristic of father and daughter, and might almost have been adopted as mottoes by the twain. “Yes” was very often on Cecilia’s lips, but she appeared to feel the affirmation too short to answer the full purpose of politeness, and always managed to drawl out the monosyllable to the length of three. Bardon’s “No,” on the contrary, came out short and sharp, like a bark. He seemed to concentrate into it his haughty spirit of perpetual dissent from the opinions of the rest of the world. “I should not wonder if the poor girl has got into a scrape for inviting us,” was the doctor’s next observation. “Oh! dear papa!” exclaimed Cecilia, in an expostulatory tone, though the same thought had just been passing through her own mind. “I’m not going to wait here like a lackey in a lobby!” said the doctor, moving towards the door. Cecilia was in a tremour of apprehension. “Papa, papa! we can’t slip away without bidding the countess good-bye,—without seeing the earl,—it would look so odd, so rude.” “What’s odd and rude is their leaving us here, without paying us common civility! I’ll stand it no longer!” cried the irascible man; and opening the door, he proceeded along the corridor which led to the hall, followed by his expostulating daughter. Unfortunately, their course lay past the library; and more unfortunately still, the library door happened to be very slightly ajar. “Can’t you manage some way of getting rid of these miserable Bardons?” were the words, pronounced in an irritated tone, which struck like a pistol-shot on the ears of the countess’s guests. It was as though that pistol-shot had exploded a mine of gunpowder! To the earl’s amazement the library door was suddenly flung wide open, and, quivering with irrepressible rage, the fiery old doctor stood before him.