'No, indeed, uncle and aunt only have great old stupid books! They wanted me to read those horrid tiresome things of Scott's, and Dickens's too, who is as old as the hills! Why, they could not think of anything better to do on their wedding tour but to go to all the places in the Waverley novels.' 'Why, they are as bad as history! Jim brought one home once, and pa wanted me to read it, but I could not get on with it--all about a stupid king of France. I'm sure if I married a lord I'd make him do something nicer.' 'I mean ma to do something more jolly,' said Ida, 'when we get more money, and I am come out. I mean to go to balls and tennis parties, and I shall be sure to marry a lord at some of them.' 'And you will take me,' cried Sibyl. 'Only you must be very genteel,' said Ida. 'Try to learn style, _do_, dear. It must be learnt young, you know! Why, there's Aunt Mary, when she has got ever so beautiful a satin dress on, she does not look half so stylish as Lady Adela walking up the road in an old felt hat and a shepherd's-plaid waterproof! But they all do dress so as I should be ashamed. Only think what a scrape that got Herbert into. He was coming back one Saturday from his tutor's, and he saw walking up to the house an awfully seedy figure of fun, in an old old ulster, and such a hat as you never saw, with a knapsack on her back, and a portfolio under her arm. So of course he thought it was a tramp with something to sell, and he holloaed out, "You'd better come out of this! We want none of your sort." She just turned round and laughed, which put him in such a rage, that though she began to speak he didn't wait, but told her to have done with her sauce, or he would call the keepers. He thinks she said, "You'd better," and I believe he did move his stick a little.' 'Ida, have done with that!' cried Herbert's voice close to her. 'Hold your tongue, or I'll--' and his hand was near her hair. 'Oh, don't, don't, Herbert. Let me hear,' cried Sibyl. 'That's the way girls go on,' said Herbert fiercely, 'with their nonsense and stuff.' 'But who--?' 'If you go on, Ida--' he was clutching her braid. Sibyl sprang to the defence, and there was a general struggle and romp interspersed with screams, which was summarily stopped by Mr. Rollstone explaining severely, 'If you think that is the deportment of the aristocracy, Miss Ida, you are much mistaken.' 'Bother the aristocracy!' broke out Herbert. Calm was restored by a summons to a round game, but Sibyl's curiosity was of course insatiable, and as she sat next to Herbert, she employed various blandishments and sympathetic whispers, and after a great deal of fuss, and 'What will you give me if I tell?' to extract the end of the story, 'Did he call the keeper?' 'Oh yes, the old beast! His name's Best, but it ought to be Beast! He guffawed ever so much worse than she did!' 'Well, but who was it?'