not so violently, but with a hearty enjoyment that took
in every detail.

"And Willis had a fit of coughing!" he exclaimed, when Margaret had come
to the last word. "Poor Willis! Willis must see a doctor at once.
Consumptive, no doubt; and concealed under such a deceptive appearance
of brawn! Ho! Margaret, my dear, I feel better, much better. You have
cleared the air for me, my child."

"You--are not angry, then, Uncle John? You don't think I ought to have
put Cousin Sophronia in the rooms?"

"My love, they should have been burned to the ground sooner. There was
only one person in the world whom your Aunt Faith could not endure, and
that person was Sophronia Montfort. You did perfectly right, Margaret;
more right than you knew. If she had got into the White Rooms, I should
have been under the necessity of taking her forcibly out of them
(nothing short of force could have done it), and that would have created
an unpleasantness, you see. Yes! Thank you, my dear little girl! I feel
quite myself again. We shall worry through, somehow; but remember,
Margaret, that you are the mistress of Fernley, and, if you have any
trouble, come to me. And now, my love, we must go home to tea!"

When the gong rang for tea, Margaret and her uncle entered the
dining-room together--to find Cousin Sophronia already seated at the
head of the table, rattling the teacups with intention.

"Well, my dears!" she cried, in sprightly tones. "You walked further
than you intended, did you not? I should not have sat down without you,
but I was simply famished. I always think punctuality such an important
factor in the economy of life. It is high time you had some steady head
to look after you, John!" and she shook her head in affectionate
playfulness. "Sit down, John!"

Mr. Montfort did not sit down.

"I am sorry you were hungry, Sophronia," he said, kindly. "I cannot
think of letting you wait to pour tea for me, my dear cousin. Margaret
does that always; you are to sit here by me, and begin at once upon your
own supper. Allow me!"

Margaret hardly knew how it was done. There was a bow, a courtly wave of
the hand, a movement of chairs; and her own place was vacant, and Cousin
Sophronia was sitting at the side place, very red in the face, her eyes
snapping out little green lights; and Uncle John was bending over her
with cordial kindness, pushing her chair in a little further, and
lifting the train of her dress out of the way. With downcast eyes,