hining,
unto fourscore years, and she only answered:

"Let me put you on one of those dickies I got you, James; then you'll
only have to change your trousers, and put on your velvet coat, and
there you'll be. Val likes you to look nice."

"Dicky!" said James. "You're always wasting your money on something."

But he suffered the change to be made till his neck also shone,
murmuring vaguely:

"He's an extravagant chap, I'm afraid."

A little brighter in the eye, with rather more colour than usual in his
cheeks, he took his seat in the drawing-room to wait for the sound of
the front-door bell.

"I've made it a proper dinner party," Emily said comfortably; "I thought
it would be good practice for Imogen--she must get used to it now she's
coming out."

James uttered an indeterminate sound, thinking of Imogen as she used to
climb about his knee or pull Christmas crackers with him.

"She'll be pretty," he muttered, "I shouldn't wonder."

"She is pretty," said Emily; "she ought to make a good match."

"There you go," murmured James; "she'd much better stay at home and look
after her mother." A second Dartie carrying off his pretty granddaughter
would finish him! He had never quite forgiven Emily for having been as
much taken in by Montague Dartie as he himself had been.

"Where's Warmson?" he said suddenly. "I should like a glass of Madeira
to-night."

"There's champagne, James."

James shook his head. "No body," he said; "I can't get any good out of
it."

Emily reached forward on her side of the fire and rang the bell.

"Your master would like a bottle of Madeira opened, Warmson."

"No, no!" said James, the tips of his ears quivering with vehemence, and
his eyes fixed on an object seen by him alone. "Look here, Warmson, you
go to the inner cellar, and on the middle shelf of the end bin on the
left you'll see seven bottles; take the one in the centre, and don't
shake it. It's the last of the Madeira I had from Mr. Jolyon when we
came in here--never been moved; it ought to be in prime condition still;
but I don't know, I can't tell."

"Very good, sir," responded the withdrawing Warmson.

"I was keeping it for our golden wedding," said James suddenly, "but I
shan't live three years at my age."

"Nonsense, James," said Emily, "don't talk like that."

"I ought to have got it up myself," murmured James, "he'll shake it as
likely as not." And he sank into silent recollection of long moments
among the open ga