"No, I'm not. I hate grand dinners. Fancy making a fine art of eating, and studying one's _menu_ beforehand to see what combination of dishes will harmonise best with one's internal economy. And then the names of the things are always better than the things themselves. It's like a show at a fair, all the best outside. Give me a slice of English beef or mutton, and a bird that my gun has shot, and let all the fine-art dinners go hang." "Cut him a slice of beef, dear Miss McCroke," said Vixen. "Not now, thanks; I can't eat now. I'm going to drink orange pekoe." Argus had taken up his position between Violet and her visitor. He sat bolt upright, like a sentinel keeping guard over his mistress; save that a human sentinel, unless idiotic or intoxicated, would hardly sit with jaws wide apart, and his tongue hanging out of one side of his mouth, as Argus did. But this lolloping attitude of the canine tongue was supposed to indicate a mind at peace with creation. "Are you very glad to come of age, Rorie?" asked Vixen, turning her bright brown eyes upon him, full of curiosity. "Well, it will be rather nice to have as much money as I want without asking my mother for it. She was my only guardian, you know. My father had such confidence in her rectitude and capacity that he left everything in her hands." "Do you find Briarwood much improved?" inquired Miss McCroke. Lady Jane had been doing a good deal to her orchid-houses lately. "I haven't found Briarwood at all yet," answered Rorie, "and Vixen seems determined I shan't find it." "What, have you only just returned?" "Only just," "And you have not seen Lady Jane yet?" exclaimed Miss McCroke with a horrified look. "It sounds rather undutiful, doesn't it? I was awfully tired, after travelling all night; and I made this a kind of halfway house." "Two sides of a triangle are invariably longer than any one side," remarked Vixen, gravely. "At least that's what Miss McCroke has taught me." "It was rather out of my way, of course. But I wanted to see whether Vixen had grown. And I wanted to see the Squire." "Papa has gone to Ringwood to look at a horse; but you'll see him at the grand dinner. He'll be coming home to dress presently." "I hope you had an agreeable tour, Mr. Vawdrey?" said Miss McCroke. "Oh, uncommonly jolly." "And you like Switzerland?" "Yes; it's nice and hilly." And then Roderick favoured them with a sketch of his travels, while they sipped their tea, and while Vixen made the dogs balance pieces of cake on their big blunt noses. It was all very nice--the Tete Noire, and Mont Blanc, and the Matterhorn. Rorie jumbled them all together, without the least regard to geography. He had done a good deal of climbing, had worn out and lost dozens of alpenstocks, and had brought home a case of Swiss carved work for his friends. "There's a clock for your den, Vixen--I shall bring it to-morrow--with a little cock-robin that comes out of his nest and sings--no end of jolly."