"God forbid!" said Trevor, earnestly. "While I live, this is your home, and I shall interfere but little with you in the conduct of the house. But I take this opportunity of saying that I must ask of you both to remember--old friends as well as old servants of the family--that I have now come back to take my position here as the master of Penreife, and that, in speaking to me before visitors, `Master Dick' sounds rather childish. That will do, Mrs Lloyd. Yes, Lloyd, you can bring in some of the claret." He walked into the dining-room, the quiet, calm man of the world, with enough dignity and self-assertion to show the housekeeper that the days of her rule had departed for ever. "That's going to sea, that is," she muttered. "That's being used to order people about, and being an officer. But we shall see, Master Dick--we shall see!" And with a quick, spasmodic twitching of her hands as she smoothed down her apron, she went back muttering to her own room. Volume 1, Chapter XIII. MISHAPS. Lunch at Tolcarne that day was not one of the most pleasant of meals. Sir Hampton had come in, looking purple instead of red with his walk, to pause at the hall door and dismiss Sanders, the gardener, who stood mopping his face. "Er-rum! Look here, Sanders!" he exclaimed. "Yes, sir," said Sanders. "Yes, Sir Hampton, man!" "Yes, Sir Hampton," said Sanders, slowly and impressively, as if he were trying to fix the formula in his mind. "I'll see you in the morning about a new bed on the lawn, and--er-rum-- don't let this affair be talked about." "No, sir--Hampton," said Sanders. He went heavily down the new path, while his master stood apparently loading himself--that is to say, he thrust what seemed to be a white gun-wad into his mouth, before turning into the hall, and letting off a tremendous "Er-rum," which echoed through the house. The wad, however, was only a digestive tablet, an antidote to the heartburn, from which Sir Hampton suffered; and he strode into the dining-room, where the family was already assembled for luncheon. "Oh, dad--papa," cried Fin, "such news for you." "Don't worry your papa, my dear," said Miss Matilda, smoothing her handkerchief, which, from being sat upon, resembled a cambric cake; "wait till he has had some refreshment. He is tired. Hampton, will you take a cutlet?" "Don't, pa. Have some chicken pie." "Shall I send you a poached egg, dear?" said Lady Rea, who was in difficulties with the mustard-pot, the protruding spoon of which had entangled itself with her open lace sleeve, and the yellow condiment was flowing over the table. "No," said Sir Hampton, gruffly. "Tut, tut, tut," said Lady Rea, making matters worse by trying to scrape up the mustard with a spoon. "Hadn't you better let Edward do that, dear?" said Miss Matilda, with a pained expression of countenance, as she played pat-a-cake once more with her handkerchief.