“He’s off somewhere.  I saw one of the Bitterworth grooms come to the house this afternoon, so perhaps something’s wrong there.  I say, Jan, there’ll be a stunning pie for supper!”

“Have you seen it?”

“Haven’t I!  I went into the kitchen when she was making it.  It has got a hare inside it, and forcemeat balls.”

“Who?” asked Jan—­alluding to the maker.

“Miss Deb,” replied young Cheese.  “It’s sure to be something extra good, for her to go and make it.  If she doesn’t help me to a rare good serving, sha’n’t I look black at her!”

“It mayn’t be for supper,” debated Jan.

“Cook said it was.  I asked her.  She thought somebody was coming.  I say, Jan, if you miss any of the castor oil, don’t go and say I drank it.”

Jan lifted his eyes to a shelf opposite, where various glass bottles stood.  Among them was the one containing the castor oil.  “Who has been at it?” he asked.

“Miss Amilly.  She came and filled that great fat glass pot of hers, with her own hands; and she made me drop in some essence of cloves to scent it.  Won’t her hair smell of it to-night!”

“They’ll make castor oil scarce, if they go at it like that,” said Jan indifferently.

“They use about a quart a month; I know they do; the three of ’em together,” exclaimed young Cheese, as vehemently as if the loss of the castor oil was personal.  “How their nightcaps must be greased!”

“Sibylla doesn’t use it,” said Jan.

“Doesn’t she, though!” retorted young Cheese, with acrimony.  “She uses many things on the sly that she pretends not to use.  She’s as vain as a peacock.  Did you hear about—­”

Master Cheese cut his question short.  Coming in at the surgery door was Lionel Verner.

“Well, Jan!  What about Decima?  After waiting ages at the Court for you to come downstairs and report, I found you were gone.”

“It’s a twist,” said Jan.  “It will be all right in a few days.  How’s Uncle Stephen to-day?”

“Just the same.  Are the young ladies in?”

“Go and see,” said Jan.  “I know nothing about ’em.”

“Yes, they are in, sir,” interrupted Master Cheese.  “They have not been out all the afternoon, for a wonder.”

Lionel left the surgery, stepped round to the front door, and entered the house.

In a square, moderate-sized drawing-room, with tasty things scattered about it to catch the eye, stood a young lady, figuring off before the chimney-glass.  Had you looked critically into the substantial furniture you might have found it old and poor; of a different class from the valuable furniture at Verner’s Pride; widely different from the light, elegant furniture at Lady Verner’s.  But, what with white antimacassars, many coloured mats on which reposed pretty ornaments, glasses and vases of flowers, and other trifles, the room looked well enough for anything.  In like manner, had you, with the same critical eye, scanned