"Perhaps, David, you will remember how disgracefully late it is," said
Mrs. Dolman. "Children, I must frankly say that I am _not_ pleased to
see you. What are you doing up at this hour?"

"We have come to keep father company," said Apollo, fixing his
flashing black eyes, with a distinctly adverse expression in them, on
his aunt's face.

"In my day," continued Aunt Jane complacently, helping herself to
strawberries, "the motto was: 'Little boys should be seen and not
heard.' To-night, of course, I make allowances; but things will be
different presently. David, you surely are not giving those children
wine?"

"Oh, they generally have a little sip each from my port," said Mr.
Delaney; "it does not do them any harm."

"You may inculcate a taste," said Mrs. Dolman, in a very solemn voice.
"In consequence of that little sip, which appears so innocent, those
children may grow up drunkards. Early impressions! Well, all I can say
is this--when they come to live at the Rectory they will have to be
teetotalers. In my house we are all teetotalers. My husband and I both
think that we cannot have proper influence on the parishioners unless
we do ourselves what we urge them to do."

Iris and Apollo both listened to these strange words with fast-beating
hearts. What did they mean? Mrs. Dolman spoke of when they were to
live at the Rectory. What rectory? She spoke of a time when they were
to live with her. Oh, no; she must be mistaken. Nothing so perfectly
awful could be going to happen.