Then there followed another rustling of the silken gown, and tinkle of the long gold chain, with its bunch of _breloques_, after which came another tinkle, that of glasses, as “the girl” brought in a tray with two decanters, a large plate of shortbread, and one of another kind of cake. The wax flowers had to be lifted from the centre of the table to make room for this, and the process occupied a little time and a good deal of commotion, of which Rowland was conscious with increasing irritation and annoyance. He began to feel, however, that the position was ridiculous, and that to stand at the window, with his back to the other occupants of the room, was certainly not to make the best of the situation in any way. He turned round accordingly, and threw himself into a chair, which rocked under him. The strangeness alike and familiarity of the scene were more bewildering to him than words could say. Mrs. Brown, in the wealth which he had supplied, had done all she could to be genteel, poor woman, according to her lights. The tray with the port and sherry was her best rendering of what a proper reception ought to be. In the foundry days it would no doubt have been a little whiskey and a bit of oatcake. The instinct was the same, but, according to all the good woman knew, this was the most lofty and cultured way of setting it forth. “Will you take port wine or sherry wine, papa?” Marion said. “I will take nothing, thank you. Shut the door, I beg. I want to speak to you, my dear.” He turned towards her, but his look stopped short at Archie--at Archie, the loutish lad whose lowering forehead was bent, over his mother’s honest blue eyes. “I did wrong not to tell you at once who I was. I suppose I had some absurd idea that you might recognise me. To make up for this, I’ll forget all the foolish things you have said about my wife. As they arise from simple ignorance, and you have had unfortunately no acquaintance with ladies, I’ll look over all that, and well begin square.” Marion listened, standing with the decanter in her hand. “Will you really take nothing, papa; not a little sherry to keep you going till dinner-time?” she said. “My Aunt,” said Archie, “is a very good woman; she has been everything that is kind to us, and my own mother’s sister--more than the grandest lady in the land. If she is not a lady, neither was my mother, I suppose?” “Your mother was--like nobody else, nor to be compared with anybody else,” said Rowland hastily. “But you are quite right to stand up for your aunt. I don’t doubt she has been very kind to you.” “Oh,” said Marion, turning her head, “no more than was just her duty, papa. We’ve done a great deal for her. There is just as much to be said on the one side as the other. You can take a piece of shortbread, Archie, and a wee drop of the sherry wine will do you good.” The lad pushed her hand away somewhat rudely. “I wish,” he said, “you wouldn’t interrupt what papaw says.”