“My dear aunt, the joke is not worth telling you,” said Maurice, in desperation cutting her short. “Ah, I knew there was a joke! Do tell it to Eunice! she is so fond of amusing stories, especially from you.” Maurice flushed angrily. “I don’t tell amusing stories,” he said curtly, and walked across to the piano. “Such a bad temper!” sighed the Parrot, shaking her head; “so like his poor dear father, who foamed at the mouth when in a rage.” “Oh, come, not so bad as that,” said the Rector good-naturedly. “My dear Rector, I assure you I have seen Austin”—And then Mrs. Dengelton began a long, rambling story, which had no beginning and certainly did not appear to have an end, for she droned on until the poor Rector was quite weary, and was much put to to conceal his yawns. Meanwhile, Maurice, remembering what the Rector had told him about the young couple, looked keenly at the poet and then at his cousin, at which inspection they naturally felt somewhat embarrassed. “Yes?” said Eunice at length, in an interrogative fashion. “Oh, nothing, nothing!” he responded hastily; “I was only wondering what you were talking about.” “We were not talking at all,” said Crispin, running his fingers over the keys; “on the contrary, we were listening to Mrs. Dengelton.” Maurice smiled absently, and tugged moodily at his mustache. “You have a charming place here, Roylands,” remarked Crispin, more for the sake of saying something than for the importance of the remark; “I would like to settle down in this quiet village.” “You!” said Maurice in astonishment; “the bird of passage who is never off the wing! Why, you would die of ennui in a week.” “Ah, that depends on the company,” answered Crispin, stealing a glance at Eunice, who sat silently playing with her fan. “I am afraid I am not very lively company,” observed Maurice, with a sigh, not noticing the glance; “there is so little to talk about nowadays.” “Poetry.” “I’m tired of poetry.” “Music.” “Too much music is dreary. I heard such a lot in London.” “Then you must love scandal.” “Ah, that is a hint that my dear aunt can amuse me.” “Maurice!” said Eunice, with a frown. “Now don’t be angry, my dear cousin. Talking scandal is a very harmless occupation, and, as the Rector seems interested, I think I will go and hear the latest story of Belgravia. But, Crispin, I wish you would take my cousin on to the terrace—the sky is worth looking at with moon and clouds.” Crispin darted a look of gratitude at him, and Maurice, delighted at thus foiling his aunt’s schemes, went off to hear that lady’s conversation. The two lovers at the piano were afraid to move for a time, lest they should attract Mrs. Dengelton’s attention, and thus be stopped from leaving the room; but when they saw her deep in conversation with the two gentlemen, they stole quietly to the French window at the end of the room, through which they speedily gained the terrace.