en different things
on the table already; it was only rage which kept me from eating, but he
chose to pretend that everything was bad, and we had a lively time of
it, while he ate some of the cakes on every plate in turns and took a
second helping and finished it to the last crumb, and then declared that
it wasn't fit for human consumption. All the while poor Mrs Greaves
sat like a mute at a funeral, hanging her head and never saying so much
as "Bo!" in self-defence; and Rachel smiled as if she were listening to
a string of compliments, and said--

"Try the toast, then, father dear. It is nice and crisp, just as you
like it. If you don't like those cakes, we won't have them again.
Ready for some more tea, dear? It is stronger now that it has stood a
little while."

"It might easily be that. Hot water bewitched--that's what I call your
tea, young lady. Waste of good cream and sugar--"

So it went on--grumble, grumble, grumble, grum-- And that Rachel
actually put her arm round his neck and kissed his cross red face.

"It is not the tea that is bad, dear, it is your poor old foot. Cheer
up! It will be better to-morrow. This new medicine is said to work
wonders."

Then he exploded for another half hour about doctors and medicines,
abusing them both as hard as he could, and at the end pointed to my
face, which, to judge from my feelings, must have been chalky green, and
wanted to know if they called themselves nurses, and if they wished to
kill me outright, for if they did they had better say so at once, and
let him know what was in store. He had borne enough in the last twenty-
five years, goodness knew!

I was carried back to bed and cried surreptitiously beneath the clothes
while Rachel tidied up.

"Dear father," she said fondly; "he is a martyr to gout. It is so sad
for him to have an illness which depresses his spirits and spoils his
enjoyment. There are so few pleasures left to him in life now, but he
bears it wonderfully well."

I peeped at her over the sheet, but her face was quite grave and
serious. She meant it, every word!

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

_August 17th_.
I was wheeled into the library every day, and lay in state upon the
sofa, receiving callers. Mother drove over each afternoon for a short
visit. Will came in often, and brought Mr Carstairs with him. The
other members of Vere's house-party had returned home, but this poor,