it was to save his
life," said Pat. "Nothin' rougher thin 'No, ma'am,' and 'Yes, ma'am,' I
ever heard him say to her. Whirroo, Bridget, you should ha' heard him
whin his timper was up givin' it to us long ago in the barrack square. I
hope it isn't the suppressed gout she'll be giving him the next time!
'Tisn't half as bad whin it's out."

However, the storms were few and far between. The household lived by
rule. Every morning, winter and summer, the horses were at the door by
eight o'clock for the morning canter of the General and Miss Nelly in
the park. At nine o'clock the household assembled for prayers. After
breakfast Sir Denis walked to his club in Pall Mall, wet or dry. He
would read the papers and discuss the cheeseparing policy of the
Government with some of his old chums, lunch at the club, play a game of
dominoes or draughts, and return home in time for dinner. Frequently
they entertained a friend or two quietly at dinner. But, company or no
company, there were prayers at ten o'clock, after which the General took
his candle and went to his bedroom.

There were times, of course, when Nelly went out to balls and
entertainments, and then Sir Denis was to be seen on duty, even though
there were a good many ladies who would be willing to take the
chaperonage of his daughter off his hands. But that was an office he
would relinquish to no one. He was the most patient of chaperons, too,
and never grumbled if the daylight found him still at the whist-table,
although he would rise at the same hour as usual and carry out his
appointed round for the day as if he had not lost his sleep over-night.
Of course, Nelly might stay a-bed. He wouldn't have Nelly's roses
spoilt, and the young needed their proper amount of sleep. As for
himself, he couldn't sleep a wink after seven, no matter how late he had
been up the night before.

But, on the whole, they lived a quiet life. Nelly was too unselfish, too
fond of her father, to cost him many nights without his usual sleep. She
had really the quietest tastes. Her few friends, her books, her music,
her dogs and birds, sufficed for her happiness. They had a houseful of
dogs, by the way, and any description of the way of life in Sherwood
Square which made no mention of dogs would be quite insufficient. Duke
the Irish terrier and Bonaparte the pug, usually Boney, and Nelson the
bull terrier, were as important and characteristic members of the
household as anyone else, except, perhap