They were amused, they were looked after, they were encouraged not to stand each other drinks, nor to rival the profanity of their brothers and fathers. “Places” were found for them, in the rare instances when they condescended to “places.” Sometimes they breakfasted at _The Bunhouse_, sometimes went there to supper. Very often they came in a state of artificial cheerfulness, or ready for battle. Then there would arise such a disturbance as civilization seldom sees. Not otherwise than when boys, having tied two cats by the tails, hang them over the handle of a door--they then spit, and shriek, and swear, fur flies, and the clamor goes up to heaven: so did the street resound when the young patrons of _The Bunhouse_ were in a warlike humor. Then the stern housekeeper would intervene, and check these motions of their minds, _haec certamina tanta_, turning the more persistent combatants into the street. Next day Mrs. St. John Deloraine would come in her carriage, and try to be very severe, and then would weep a little, and all the girls would shed tears, all would have a good cry together, and finally the Lady Mother (Mrs. St John Deloraine) would take a few of them for a drive in the Park. After that there would be peace for a while, and presently disturbances would come again. For this establishment it was that Mrs. St. John Deloraine wanted a housekeeper and an assistant. The former housekeeper, as we have been told, had yielded to love, “which subdues the hearts of all female women, even of the prudent,” according to Homer, and was going to share the home and bear the children of a plumber. With her usual invincible innocence, Mrs. St. John Deloraine had chosen to regard the Hon. Thomas Cranley as a kind good Christian in disguise, and to him she appealed in her need of a housekeeper and assistant. No application could possibly have suited that gentleman better. _He_ could give his own servant an excellent character; and if once she was left to herself, to her passions, and the society of Margaret, that young lady’s earthly existence would shortly cease to embarrass Mr. Cranley. Probably there was not one other man among the motley herds of Mrs. St. John Deloraine’s acquaintance who would have used her unsuspicious kindness as an instrument in a plot of any sort. But Mr. Cranley had (when there was no personal danger to be run) the courage of his character. “Shall I go and lunch with her?” he asked himself, as he twisted her note, with its characteristic black border and device of brown, and gold. “I haven’t shown anywhere I was likely to meet anyone I knew, not since--since I came back from Monte Carlo.” Even to himself he did not like to mention that affair of the Cockpit The man in the story who boasted that he had committed every crime in the calendar withdrew his large words when asked “if he had ever cheated at cards.”