, as represented by the forms of their big
brothers.

Christopher sat down to tea as invited, squeezing himself in between two
children whose names were almost as long as their persons, and whose tin
cups discoursed primitive music by means of spoons rattled inside them
until they were filled. The tea proceeded pleasantly, notwithstanding
that the cake, being a little burnt, tasted on the outside like the
latter plums in snapdragon. Christopher never could meet the eye of
Picotee, who continued in a wild state of flushing all the time, fixing
her looks upon the sugar-basin, except when she glanced out of the window
to see how the evening was going on, and speaking no word at all unless
it was to correct a small sister of somewhat crude manners as regards
filling the mouth, which Picotee did in a whisper, and a gentle
inclination of her mouth to the little one's ear, and a still deeper
blush than before.

Their visitor next noticed that an additional cup-and-saucer and plate
made their appearance occasionally at the table, were silently
replenished, and then carried off by one of the children to an inner
apartment.

'Our mother is bedridden,' said Ethelberta, noticing Christopher's look
at the proceeding. 'Emmeline attends to the household, except when
Picotee is at home, and Joey attends to the gate; but our mother's
affliction is a very unfortunate thing for the poor children. We are
thinking of a plan of living which will, I hope, be more convenient than
this is; but we have not yet decided what to do.' At this minute a
carriage and pair of horses became visible through one of the angular
windows of the apse, in the act of turning in from the highway towards
the park gate. The boy who answered to the name of Joey sprang up from
the table with the promptness of a Jack-in-the-box, and ran out at the
door. Everybody turned as the carriage passed through the gate, which
Joey held open, putting his other hand where the brim of his hat would
have been if he had worn one, and lapsing into a careless boy again the
instant that the vehicle had gone by.

'There's a tremendous large dinner-party at the House to-night,' said
Emmeline methodically, looking at the equipage over the edge of her
teacup, without leaving off sipping. 'That was Lord Mountclere. He's a
wicked old man, they say.'

'Lord Mountclere?' said Ethelberta musingly. 'I used to know some
friends of his. In what way is he wicked?'

'I don't know,