“Oh, look, Callum,” she said to her brother opposite her, who was drumming idly on the table with his knife and fork.  “Aren’t they lovely?  Mama gave them to me.”

“Mama does more for you than I would.  You know what you’d get from me, don’t you?”

“What?”

He looked at her teasingly.  For answer Norah made a face at him.  Just then Owen came in and took his place at the table.  Mrs. Butler saw Norah’s grimace.

“Well, that’ll win no love from your brother, ye can depend on that,” she commented.

“Lord, what a day!” observed Owen, wearily, unfolding his napkin.  “I’ve had my fill of work for once.”

“What’s the trouble?” queried his mother, feelingly.

“No real trouble, mother,” he replied.  “Just everything—­ducks and drakes, that’s all.”

“Well, ye must ate a good, hearty meal now, and that’ll refresh ye,” observed his mother, genially and feelingly.  “Thompson”—­she was referring to the family grocer—­“brought us the last of his beans.  You must have some of those.”

“Sure, beans’ll fix it, whatever it is, Owen,” joked Callum.  “Mother’s got the answer.”

“They’re fine, I’d have ye know,” replied Mrs. Butler, quite unconscious of the joke.

“No doubt of it, mother,” replied Callum.  “Real brain-food.  Let’s feed some to Norah.”

“You’d better eat some yourself, smarty.  My, but you’re gay!  I suppose you’re going out to see somebody.  That’s why.”

“Right you are, Norah.  Smart girl, you.  Five or six.  Ten to fifteen minutes each.  I’d call on you if you were nicer.”

“You would if you got the chance,” mocked Norah.  “I’d have you know I wouldn’t let you.  I’d feel very bad if I couldn’t get somebody better than you.”

“As good as, you mean,” corrected Callum.

“Children, children!” interpolated Mrs. Butler, calmly, looking about for old John, the servant.  “You’ll be losin’ your tempers in a minute.  Hush now.  Here comes your father.  Where’s Aileen?”

Butler walked heavily in and took his seat.

John, the servant, appeared bearing a platter of beans among other things, and Mrs. Butler asked him to send some one to call Aileen.

“It’s gettin’ colder, I’m thinkin’,” said Butler, by way of conversation, and eyeing Aileen’s empty chair.  She would come soon now—­his heavy problem.  He had been very tactful these last two months—­avoiding any reference to Cowperwood in so far as he could help in her presence.

“It’s colder,” remarked Owen, “much colder.  We’ll soon see real winter now.”

Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when all had been served Aileen had not yet come.

“See where Aileen is, John,” observed Mrs. Butler, interestedly.  “The meal will be gettin’ cold.”

Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in her room.

“Sure she must be somewhere,” commented Mrs. Butler, only slightly perplexed.  “She’ll be comin’, though, never mind, if she wants to.  She knows it’s meal-time.”