Arabella clasped both her hands at her breast, and raised a pair of speaking eyes to his face. “Bertram, is it indeed true? Now, don’t try to roast me—pray don’t!”

“Lord, yes! But who told you?”

“Harry, of course,” replied Sophia. “The children know everything in this house!”

Mr. Bertram Tallant nodded gloomily, and pulled up his sleeves a trifle. “You don’t want him in here; shall I turn him out?” he enquired.

“Ho!” cried Harry, leaping to his feet, and squaring up to his senior in great good-humour. “A mill!”

“Not in here!” shrieked his sisters with one accustomed voice.

But as they had no expectation of being attended to, each damsel made a dive to snatch her own particular property out of harm’s way. This was just as well, since the room, besides being small, was crowded with knick-knacks. The brothers struggled and swayed together for a brief minute, or two, but since Harry, though a lusty lad, was no match for Bertram, he was very soon thrust outside the room, and the door slammed against him. After dealing the scarred panels a few kicks, and threatening his senior with gruesome reprisals, he took himself off, whistling loudly through the convenient gap occasioned by the loss of one of his front teeth; and Bertram was able to remove his shoulders from the door, and to straighten his cravat.

“Well, you are to go,” he informed Arabella. “I wish I had a rich godmother, that’s all! Much old Mrs. Calne ever did for me, except to give me a devilish book called the Christian Comforter, or some such thing, which was enough to send a fellow to the dogs directly!”

“I must say, I think it was excessively shabby of her,” agreed Margaret. “Even Papa said that if she had thought you had a taste for such literature, she might have supposed that you would find it upon his shelves.”