“Oh, are you there, youngster?” he remarked, in a tone of voice implying that the question carried no interest with it. He looked at his watch. “Isn’t it rather late for you two?” “It’s only quarter past ten,” answered Frances, bristling indignantly. “And if it were twelve it wouldn’t make any difference.” To herself she said, “How I hate that man! Just because he’s thirty-four, he always treats us as if we were children; and the way he tramples on poor, dear Freddy is outrageous!” “You don’t seem to be very sociably inclined,” said Mr. Potter. “From the distance between you I should think you two chicks had been quarrelling. Come, make it up.” “Not at all,” cried Frances, indignantly. “I never lose my temper; except when you are here.” “Is that the reason you haven’t asked me to sit down?” asked Potter, smiling. “Of course you are to sit down, if you want,” exclaimed Frances. “Here.” And she moved the four inches towards her end of the sofa that had not been occupied under the previous arrangement. Mr. Potter seated himself leisurely in Freddy’s old place, and arranged one of the cushions to fit the small of his back. “I came to say good-bye to your mother,” he explained, “and as I’m too busy to stop in to-morrow, I decided to wait. You youngsters needn’t think it necessary to sit up to entertain me. Won’t Freddy’s mother be sending his nurse for him if he stays much later?” “I’m so glad you are going to Europe,” remarked Frances. “I hope you’ll stay a long while.” Mr. Potter put his glasses on again and looked at Frances calmly. “Hello!” he said mentally, “the kitten’s learning how to hiss.” Aloud he announced: “I shall only be gone for a month or two,—just the voyage and a change.” “What a pity!” responded Frances, bitingly. “I thought you’d miss me,” replied Mr. Potter, genially. Frances gave an uneasy movement on the sofa, a cross between an angry shake of the shoulders and a bounce. “Where are you going?” questioned Freddy at this point, feeling that as a grown man he must bear his part of the chat. “Look here, littleun,” said Mr. Potter, “if you expect me to talk to you back there, you—” At this point he suddenly ceased speaking, as if something more interesting than his unfinished remark had occurred to him. “Freddy found it too warm by the fire,” explained Frances hastily, guilty at heart, if to outward appearance brazen. But Mr. Potter did not hear what she said, and sat looking into the fire with a suddenly serious look, which nevertheless had a laugh not very far underneath. After quite a pause, Frances said: “How entertaining you are!” “Yes,” assented Mr. Potter, coming back from his thoughts; “I always enjoy myself, and I find that other people do the same.” Then he again relapsed into meditation.