But what could Jemmie do? He would be extremely bored by being dragged out before dinner. He would not know what he ought to do, and irritated by not knowing he would certainly do the wrong thing. Moreover, she did not feel that she wanted Jemmie. She was anxious to be quiet and avoid any discussion of her inheritance, any speculation upon its exact amount, any plans of Jemmie to build this house or buy that property. In fact, she should like to stay at King's Gate to-night by herself and sleep in her old room upstairs. She desired to make amends to her grandmother's memory for that unwonted display of terror in which she had indulged herself. She sent a note by Burton to say that she should not be back at Woodworth Lodge until the next morning. * * * * * Mr. Alison was displeased by his wife's message. If it would not have involved him in what might have been the unpleasantness of a houseful of hysterical servants, he would have driven back to King's Gate to protest against her action. It would have been sufficiently annoying to receive word that she might be late for dinner, or even that she might not be back at all for dinner; but to stay the night for no purpose except to gratify a whim of piety, that did strike Mr. Alison as unreasonable. He hoped that Mary was not going to turn religious, to start getting up early in the morning for Communion and all that kind of thing. One never knew what a woman might do after thirty. Or take up with spiritualism. He would soon put a stop to that. Table-turning and tambourine playing ... long-haired mediums and goggle-eyed women with skinny necks and Oriental beads ... she had the children, and they ought to be enough. "Did Burton say why your mistress had to stay?" he asked the parlormaid. "No, sir; he said no more than give me Meddem's note." Mr. Alison strode across the room in irritation, and nearly tripped over Mac, who squealed in alarm. "Confound the dog! Take him downstairs, Pinkney," he called to the retreating maid. "He's getting much too old to be allowed all over the house. And what is the matter with the gas to-night?" "It do seem to burn a bit dim, sir. I think Mac has gone and hid under your chair, sir." "Come out of that, you brute," Mr. Alison shouted angrily. There was a low growl in response. "Did you hear him, Pinkney?" The maid was stricken by awe. "He deliberately growled at me." Mr. Alison rocked the chair violently in order to frighten Mac into the open; when at last he had succeeded in driving him out of the room and was alone, he made up his mind to tell Mary on her return that her dog must be put away. It was not safe to have a dog like that about with children in the house. In any case it was too old. It was over a year old when he gave it to Mary nearly eleven years ago. Dogs ought not to be allowed to grow old. Mr. Alison smoothed his ruffled brow and patted his bald head.