hey took him on these.

After dinner in came Mr. Bassett, erect, and a proud nurse with little
Compton, just able to hold his nurse's gown and toddle.

Rolfe did not care for small children; he just glanced at the angelic,
fair-haired infant, but his admiring gaze rested on the elder boy.

"Why, what is here--an Oriental prince?"

The boy ran to him directly. "Who are you?"

"Rolfe the writer. Who are you--the Gipsy King?"

"No; but I am very fond of gypsies. I'm _Mister_ Bassett; and when papa
dies I shall be Sir Charles Bassett."

Sir Charles laughed at this with paternal fatuity, especially as the
boy's name happened to be Reginald Francis, after his grandfather.

Rolfe smiled satirically, for these little speeches from children did
much to reconcile him to his lot.

"Meantime," said he, "let us feed off him; for it may be forty years
before we can dance over his grave. First let us see what is the
unwholesomest thing on the table."

He rose, and to the infinite delight of Mr. Bassett, and even of Master
Compton, who pointed and crowed from his mother's lap, he got up on his
chair, and put on a pair of spectacles to look.

"Eureka!" said he; "behold that dish by Lady Bassett; those are
_marrons glaces;_ fetch them here, and let us go in for a fit of the
gout at once."

"Gout! what's that?" inquired Mr. Bassett.

"Don't ask me."

"You don't know.

"Not know! What, didn't I tell you I was Rolfe the writer? Writers know
everything. That is what makes them so modest."

Mr. Bassett was now unnaturally silent for five minutes, munching
chestnuts; this enabled his guests to converse; but as soon as he had
cleared his plate, he cut right across the conversation, with that
savage contempt for all topics but his own which characterizes
gentlemen of his age, and says he to Rolfe, "You know everything? Then
what's a parson's brat?"

"Well, that's the one thing I don't know," said Rolfe; "but a brat I
take to be a boy who interrupts ladies and gentlemen with nonsense when
they are talking sense."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Rolfe," said Lady Bassett. "That
remark was very much needed."

Then she called Reginald to her, and lectured him, _sotto voce,_ to the
same tune.

"You old bachelors are rather hard," said Sir Charles, not very well
pleased.

"We are obliged to be; you parents are so soft. After all, it is no
wonder. What a superb boy it is!--Here is nurse. I'm so sorry. Now we
shall be c