“I don’t know him,” cried Gervase, “not from Adam; unless it’s Gerald Piercey, the soldier fellow that mother was so full of before I went off to get married: though nobody knew I was going to get married,” he said, with a chuckle, “except little Osy, that gave me---- I say, where’s little Osy, Meg?” “I hope,” said Patty severely, “that children are not in the habit of being brought down here after dinner as they are in some places. It’s such bad style, and, I’m thankful to say, it’s going out of fashion. It’s a thing as I could not put up with here.” “Send some one upstairs,” said Margaret, in a low voice to the footman who was standing by her, “to say that Master Osy is not to come down.” “What are you saying to the servant? I don’t want to be disagreeable,” said Patty, “but I object to a servant being sent away from his business. Oh, if the child comes usually, let him come, but it must be for the last time.” “If I may go myself,” said Margaret, half rising, “that will be the most expeditious way.” “Not before you have finished your dinner,” cried Patty; “oh, don’t, pray. I should be quite distressed if you didn’t have your dinner. And you had no tea. I know some ladies have trays sent upstairs. But I can’t tolerate such a habit as having trays upstairs: so for goodness’ sake, Margaret Osborne, sit still and finish your dinner here.” Colonel Piercey moved his chair a little; he managed to look beyond the bouquet at Margaret, sitting flushed and indignant, yet incapable of completing the absurdity of the situation by a scene at table before the servants. Colonel Piercey had run through all the gamut of astonishment, anger, and confusion; he had arrived at pure amusement now. The momentary interchange of glances made the situation possible, and it was immediately and unexpectedly ameliorated by the melodramatic appearance of Dunning behind in the half-darkness at the door. “Mr. Gervase, if you please, Sir Giles is calling for you,” the man said. Patty sprang up from her seat. “Sir Giles? the dear old gentleman! Oh, I foresaw this! He is ill, he is ill! Come, Gervase!” she cried. “Not a bit,” said Gervase; “it’s only Dunning’s way. He likes to stop you in the middle of your dinner. There’s nothing the matter with the governor, Dunning, eh?” “There’s just this, that he’s a-calling for Mr. Gervase, and not no other person,” Dunning said, with slow precision. “Well, I’m Mrs. Gervase; I’m the same as Mr. Gervase. Come, come, don’t let’s lose a moment! Moments are precious!” cried Patty, rushing to her husband and snatching him out of his chair, “in his state of health and at his age.”