But though in this, and other things, he somewhat annoyed the ladies from Stowbury, no one could say he was not civil to them—­exceedingly civil.  He offered them Botanical Garden tickets—­Zoological Garden tickets; he even, after some meditation and knitting of his shaggy grey eyebrows, bolted out with an invitation for the whole family to dinner at Russell Square the following Sunday.

“I always give my dinners on Sunday.  I’ve no time any other day,” said he, when Miss Leaf gently hesitated.  “Come or not, just as you like.”

Miss Selina, to whom the remark was chiefly addressed, bowed the most gracious acceptance.  The visitor took very little notice of Miss Hilary.  Probably, if asked, he would have described her as a small, shabbily-dressed person, looking very like a governess.  Indeed, the fact of her governess-ship seemed suddenly to recur to him; he asked her if she meant to set up another school, and being informed that she rather wished private pupils, promised largely that she should have the full benefit of his “patronage” among his friends.  Then he departed, leaving a message for Ascott to call next day, as he wished to speak to him.

“For you must be aware, Miss Leaf, that though your nephew’s allowance is nothing—­a mere drop in the bucket out of my large income—­still, when it comes year after year, and no chance of his shifting for himself, the most benevolent man in the world feels inclined to stop the supplies.  Not that I shall do that—­at least not immediately:  he is a fine young fellow, whom I’m rather proud to have helped a step up the ladder, and I’ve a great respect”—­here he bowed to Miss Selina—­“a great respect for your family.  Still there must come a time when I shall be obliged to shut up my purse-strings.  You understand, ma’am.”

“I do,” Miss Leaf answered, trying to speak with dignity, and yet with patience, for she saw Hilary’s face beginning to flame.  “And I trust, Mr. Ascott, my nephew will soon cease to be an expense to you.  It was your own voluntary kindness that brought it upon yourself, and I hope you have not found, never will find, either him or us ungrateful.”

“Oh, as to that, ma’am, I don’t look for gratitude.  Still, if Ascott does work his way into a good position—­and he’ll be the first of his family that ever did, I reckon—­but I beg your pardon, Miss Leaf.  Ladies, I’ll bid you good day.  Will your servant call my carriage?”

The instant he was gone Hilary burst forth—­

“If I were Ascott, I’d rather starve in a garret, break stones in the high road, or buy a broom and sweep a crossing, than I’d be dependent on this man, this pompous, purse-proud, illiterate fool!”

“No, not a fool,” reproved Johanna.  “An acute, clear-headed, nor, I think, bad-hearted man.  Coarse and common, certainly; but if we were to hate every thing coarse or common, we should find plenty to hate.  Besides, though he does his kindness in an unpleasant way, think how very, very kind he has been to Ascott.”