her husband on such matters. In this case, however, she had
done so, and Mr. Drummond had been unusually testy--indeed,
affronted--at such a question being put to him.

"I don't know what you mean, Isabella," he had replied; "but I suppose
what is good enough for me is good enough for Archie." And then Mrs.
Drummond knew she had made a mistake, for her husband had felt
bitterly the loss of his late dinner. So Archie tried to fall in with
the habits of his family, and to enjoy the large plum or seed-cake
that invariably garnished the tea-table; and, though he ate but
sparingly of the supper, which always gave him indigestion, Grace was
his only confidante in the matter. Mr. Drummond, indeed, looked at his
son rather sharply once or twice, as though he suspected him of
fastidiousness. "I cannot compliment you on your appetite," he would
say, as he helped himself to cold meat; "but perhaps our home fare is
not so tempting as Oxford living?"

"I always say your meat is unusually good," returned Archibald,
amicably. "If there be any fault, it is in my appetite; but that
Hadleigh air will soon set right." But, though he answered his father
after this tolerant fashion, he always added, in a mental aside, that
nine-o'clock suppers were certainly barbarous institutions, and
peculiarly deleterious to the constitution of an Oxford fellow.

Mrs. Drummond looked at them both somewhat keenly as they entered. In
spite of her resolution, she was secretly uncomfortable at the thought
that Archie was displeased with her: her daughter's vexation was a
burden that could be more easily borne; but her maternal heart yearned
for some token that her boy was not estranged from her. But no such
consolation was to be vouchsafed to her. She had kept his usual place
vacant beside her; Archie showed no intention of taking it. He placed
himself by his father, and began talking to him of a change of
ministry that was impending, and which would overthrow the
Conservative party. Mrs. Drummond, who was one of those women who can
never be made to take any interest in politics, was reduced to the
necessity of talking to Mattie in an undertone, for the other boys
never put in an appearance at this meal; but as she talked she took
stock of Grace's pale, abstracted looks as she sat with her plate
before her, not pretending to eat, and taking no notice of Susie and
Laura, who chatted busily across her.

It was not a festive meal; on the contrary, there wa