"And you ought to go and apologise to him." "I'd go and hang myself sooner. I'd sooner go and commit suicide in my new patent thrashing-machine." "Nonsense, papa, dear," said Glynne quietly. "You ought to go and apologise. If you don't, Uncle James will leave us." "Let him." "And then you will be very much put out and grieved." "And a good job too. I mean a good job if he'd leave, for then we should have peace in the place." "Now, papa!" "I tell you I'd be very glad of it; a confounded peppery old Nero, talking to me as if I were a private under him. Bully me, indeed! I won't stand it. There!" "Papa, dear, go upstairs and apologise to Uncle James." "I won't, Glynne. There's an end of it now. Just because he can't have everything his own way. He has never forgiven me for being the eldest son and taking the baronetcy. Was it my fault that I was born first?" "Now, papa, dear, that's talking at random; I don't believe Uncle James ever envied you for having the title." "Then he shouldn't act as if he did. Confound him!" "Then you'll go up and speak to him. Come, dear, don't let's have this cloud over the house!" "Cloud? I'll make it a regular tempest," cried Sir John, furiously. "I'll go upstairs and see that he does go, and at once. See if I ferret him out of his nasty, dark, stuffy, dismal chambers again. Brought him down here, and made a healthy, hearty man of him, and this is my reward." "Is that you talking, papa?" said Glynne, rising with him, for he made a rush now out of his seat, and she smiled in his face as she put her arms round his neck and kissed him. "Bah! Get out! Pst! Puss!" cried Sir John, and swinging round, he strode out of the library, and banged the door as if he had caught his brother's habit. Glynne stood looking after him, smiling as she listened to his steps on the polished oak floor of the hall, and then seemed quite satisfied as she detected the fact that he had gone upstairs. Then it was that a dreamy, strange look came into her eyes, and she stood there, with one hand resting upon the table, thinking--thinking--thinking of the cause of the quarrel, of the words her uncle had spoken regarding Rolph; and it seemed to her that there was a mist before her, stretching out farther and farther, and hiding the future. For the major was always so gentle and kind to her. He never spoke to her about Rolph as he had spoken to her father; but she had noticed that he was a little cold and sarcastic sometimes towards her lover. Was there trouble coming? Did she love Robert as dearly as she should? She wanted answers to these questions, and the responses were hidden in the mist ahead. Then, as she gazed, it seemed to her that her future was like the vast space into which she had looked from her window by night; and though for a time it was brightened with dazzling, hopeful points, these again became clouded over, and all was misty and dull once more. Volume 1, Chapter XII.