"I hope so, I hope so," Mr. Tufton said encouragingly, and as if stiffness were one of the most desirable things in life. "I like to see young men with a sedate bearing. "And you left my niece and grandnieces well, I hope?" "Quite well, thank you, sir," Charlie said; "but, of course, a good deal upset with parting from me." "Yes," Mr. Tufton said; "I suppose so. Women are so emotional. Now there's nothing I object to more than emotion." As Charlie thought that this was probably the case, he was silent, although the idea vaguely occurred to him that he should like to excite a little emotion in his uncle, by the sudden insertion of a pin, or some other such means. The silence continued for some little time, and then Mr. Tufton said: "I always dine at two o'clock; but as probably you are hungry--I have observed that boys always are hungry--some food will be served you in the next room. I had already given my housekeeper orders. No doubt you will find it prepared. After that, you may like to take a walk in the streets. I have supper at nine, by which hour you will, of course, have returned." Charlie, as he ate his meal, thought to himself that his uncle was a pompous old gentleman, and that it would be very hard work getting on with him, for the next three weeks. However, he consoled himself by the thought: "Kind is as kind does after all, and I expect the old gentleman is not as crusty as he looks." Charlie had handed to Mr. Tufton a letter which his mother had given him, and when he returned from a ramble through the streets, he found that gentleman sitting by the fire, with lights upon a small table beside him. Upon this Mrs. Marryat's letter lay open. "So you have soon become tired of the streets of London, Grandnephew!" he said. "There is not much to see, sir. The lamps do not burn very brightly, and the fog is coming on. I thought that, if it grew thicker, I might lose my way, and in that case I might not have been in at the hour you named for supper." "Humph!" the other gentleman grunted. "So your mother has taught you to be punctual to meals. But, no; boys' appetites teach them to be punctual then, if never at any other time. "And why, sir?" he asked severely, "Did my niece not write to me before?" "I don't know, sir," Charlie said. "I suppose she did not like--that is, she didn't think--that is--" "Think, sir! Like, sir!" said his uncle. "What right had she either to think or to like? Her duty clearly was to have made me acquainted, at once, with all the circumstances. I suppose I had a right to say whether I approved of my grandnieces going tramping about the world as governesses, or not. It isn't because a woman chooses, by her folly, to separate herself from her family, that they are to be deprived of their rights in a matter of this kind. Eh, sir, what do you say to that?" and Mr. Tufton looked very angry, indeed. "I don't know, sir," Charlie said. "I have never thought the matter over."