. I'm a plain man,
as you know, Polly, and my dinner isn't such a big affair as yours, by a
long way. And I'm not thirsty either, so I'll leave Mark to drink his
wine in peace and come along with you into the drawing-room--or _salon_,
is it you call it?' he added, with good-humoured banter.

At that moment the voice of Mr Mark Clay could be heard raised in angry
tones, apparently scolding the butler or some of his assistants, and
Sarah laughed as she said, 'You mean _you_ want to be left in peace.
There's not much peace in that room or anywhere else where that man is;'
and she gave a wave of her hand towards the dining-room.

[Illustration: He took his young niece's arm and followed his
sister-in-law into the drawing-room.]

Mr William Howroyd's bright, cheery face grew grave as he said kindly but
seriously, 'Nay, lass, you shouldn't speak so of your father.'

'I don't see what difference that makes. I can't help his being my
father. People ought to be allowed to choose. I would sooner have our
watchman for my father than him.'

'Nay, lass, you don't mean that, and I can't have you speak like that of
my brother,' said her uncle.

'He's only your step-brother, and you don't get on with him any too well
yourself. But don't look so solemn. I'll be quite good and proper if
you'll let that twinkle come into your eye again; it isn't you without a
twinkle.'

Her uncle laughed good-humouredly as he took his young niece's arm and
followed his sister-in-law into the drawing-room. His keen eye flashed
round the room, seeming to take in every detail in that one look, just as
in his own mill Mr William Howroyd knew every 'hand' and everything they
did or did not do, as some of them declared. 'Why, what's been doing
here? Here's some fine painting!' he exclaimed, as he went up to a panel
in the wall where a landscape was painted, evidently by a master-hand.

'Yes, a Royal Academician came down from London to do that; one thousand
pounds it cost. Mark was goin' to 'ave 'im do the lot; but 'e wouldn't do
any more after the first, so another man's got to come.'

'Ah, how's that?' inquired Mr Howroyd. 'It's well done; you won't better
this. Why, I see it's by Brown--Sir John Brown. It's worth one thousand
pounds, is that.'

'Sir John? 'E wasn't no Sir; just plain Mr Brown 'e was, though 'e gave
'isself airs enough for a Sir, an' wanted to dine with us--a common
painter chap!' said Mrs Clay.

George Clay looked annoyed, and c