her nephew, toiled pleasantly on at taking in stores, till his aunt
sighed, glanced at the door, then at the clock, and then at her nephew.

"Have you finished, Syd, my dear?"

"Yes, auntie, quite."

"Ha!" sighed the lady, gathering up her letters, the boy springing up to
assist her in carrying them to the side-table in the embayed window of
the handsome room. "You will, I know, take advantage of your being with
us, my dear, to avoid those of your poor dear uncle's habits which your
own good sense will teach you are not right."

"Oh, of course, auntie dear."

"And to follow those which are estimable."

"To be sure, auntie dear."

"For your uncle is at heart a noble and generous gentleman."

"Regular brick in some things, auntie," said the "dear boy," and Lady
Lisle winced.

"Try not to make use of more of those scholastic words, Syd dear, than
you can help."

"All right, auntie, I won't; but brick is right enough. Mullins, M.A.,
says it's so suggestive of solidity and square firmness."

"Yes, my dear, of course, and I wish you to be firm; but, above all, be
a gentleman, and--er--careful in your selection of your friends."

"Oh, yes, auntie; I am."

"You see, my dear, it is our misfortune that the Denes is situated
here."

"But, auntie, it's a jolly place."

"Yes, my dear; but it was quite a wreck from neglect till your uncle
married me, and he--er--we restored the place--his ancestral home--to
what it is."

"You did it up beautifully, auntie."

"Well, I hope I did, my dear child, but I have often regretted the money
that was spent over a place situated as it is."

"Situated, auntie? Why, it's lovely."

"Lovely by nature, my dear, but tainted and made ugly by the
surroundings of the society which affects the district."

"Is it, auntie?"

"Yes, my dear. I never could understand why it should be selected by
those dreadful people for their sports and pastimes."

"You mean the racing, auntie?"

"Yes, my dear"--with a shudder. "Tilborough has become a den of
infamy--a place which attracts, so many times a year, all the ruffiandom
of London, to leave its trail behind. The late Lord Tilborough used to
encourage it with his stablings and horses, and--yes, it's a great pity:
the sweet innocency of the neighbourhood is destroyed."

"Yes, auntie."

"Of course, Lady Tilborough calls occasionally, and I am compelled to be
civil to her; but I wish you to avoid all communication with her and her