That gentleman had not been so much engrossed with the conversation as to have at all the air of being ‘surprised,’ or he was too good a man of the world to shew it.  He had sprung up instantly as Wych Hazel came in, and now he came round to where she stood to shake hands, looking very bright, but as if her appearance was the simplest thing in the world.

‘You have not had breakfast?’ he said.

’I have had the opportunity.  But you look altogether too comfortable here, you and Mrs. Bywank!—­As for me, I have been breakfasting with two bears, and had nearly forgotten how civilization acts.’

‘My dear!’ said Mrs. Bywank.—­’Not “breakfasting”—­when you were coming here, Miss Wych?’

’Not much, Byo, to say the truth.  I gave Mr. Falkirk his coffee—­hot and hot.’

‘He didn’t give you waffles,’ said Rollo, making room for her plate and cup upon the table.  ’Mrs. Bywank, we must take care of her.  I shall never grumble at sending answers to invitations after this.’

He was rendering little services and making himself variously useful, with the air of a person more at home than she was:  drawing down a blind to keep the sun from her face, and opening another window to let in the air and the view.

‘Take care of me!’ said Wych Hazel, with a look at the table instead of at him, and then beginning to touch and mend things generally to suit her fancy.  ’It is very plain what I have to do!  There is the jar of marmalade quite pushed out of reach.  And if you do not empty it, Mr. Rollo, Mrs. Bywank will think you have not fulfilled the sweet promise of your earlier years.’

‘My dear!’ remonstrated Mrs. Bywank, uneasily.

‘I have satisfied her,’ said Rollo, dryly.  ’But there is a little left for you.  There wouldn’t have been if the two bears had known where it was.’

‘Mr. Falkirk was fearfully growly this morning,’ said Wych Hazel.  ’And every time he growled Gotham grumbled.  So I had a fusillade.  Where is your fruit, Byo?’

’There was none brought in yesterday, Miss Wych, I’m sorry to say.’

‘None at all in the house?’

’There’s a basket in your room, my dear; but of course’—­

‘Not “of course” at all,’ said the girl, jumping up to go for it.  ‘You know that is a sort of fruit I never eat.’

Which might have left it doubtful what sort she did eat,—­the basket contained so many, in such splendid variety.  Hazel sat down in her place and began to pile up the beauties in a majolica dish.

‘Aren’t you going to give me some?’ said Rollo, looking on.

The answer tarried while Hazel’s little fingers dived down after peaches and plums of extra size with which to crown her dish; but so doing, they suddenly brought up a white note, suspiciously sealed with red wax.  The girl dropped it, as if it had been a wasp; and hastily setting the basket down on the floor, pushed the unfinished dish to a position before Mr. Rollo.