He took tea with his sisters in the good, homely, old-fashioned drawing-room, which was at its best in winter; the four tall, narrow windows closely curtained, a roaring fire in the wide iron grate, and a modern Japanese tea-table wheeled in front of it. Five o’clock tea was of a more substantial order on Sundays than on week-days, on account of the nine o’clock supper which took the place of the seven o’clock dinner, and accommodated those who cared to attend evening church. Lady Baldwin’s Spartan luncheon had not indisposed her guest for cake and muffins, and basking in the glow of the fire Harrington forgot his troubles, enjoyed his tea, and maintained a very fair appearance of cheerfulness while his sisters questioned and his father put in an occasional word. “I’m afraid you are getting rather too friendly at the Mount,” said Matthew Dalbrook. “I don’t like Sir Henry Baldwin, and I don’t think he’s an advantageous friend for you.” “Oh, but we’re old chums,” said Harrington, blushing a little; “we were at Oxford together, you know.” “I’m afraid we both know it, Harry, and to our cost,” replied his father. “You might have succeeded in your divinity exam, if it hadn’t been for this fine gentleman friend of yours.” “I’m not sorry I failed, father. The law suits me ever so much better than the Church.” “So long as you stick to that opinion I’m satisfied. Only don’t go to the Mount too often, and don’t let the handsome Miss Baldwin make a fool of you.” If it had not been for the coloured shades over the lamps, which were so artistic as to be useless for seeing purposes, Harrington might have been seen to turn pale. “No fear of that,” Sophia exclaimed contemptuously. “Juliet Baldwin is not likely to give a provincial solicitor any encouragement. She’s a girl who expects to marry for position, and though she is just a shade _passée_, she may make a good match even yet. She comes here because she likes _us_; but she’s a thorough woman of the world, and you needn’t be afraid of her running after Harry.” Harrington grew as red as a peony with suppressed indignation. “Perhaps as the Baldwins are my friends you might be able to get on without talking any more about them,” he said, scowling at his elder sister. “I’ve told you what we had for lunch, and how many servants were in the room, and what kind of gown Juliet—Miss Baldwin—was wearing. Don’t you think we’ve had enough of them for to-night?” “Quite enough, Harry, quite enough,” said the father. “By-the-by, did you read the _Times_ leader on Gladstone’s last manifesto? And where are the _Field_ and the _Observer_? Bring me over a lamp that I can see by, Sophy, my dear. Those crimson lamp-shades of yours suggest one of Orchardson’s pictures, but they don’t help me to read my paper.” “They’re the beastliest things I ever saw,” said Harrington, vindictively.