she squeezed up young Buttons, the page, while she put questions to him
regarding baby, and the cook's health, and whether she had taken what
Mrs. Gashleigh had sent overnight, and the housemaid's health, and
whether Mr. Timmins had gone to chambers or not--and when, after this
preliminary chatter, Buttons flung open the door, announcing--"Mrs.
Gashleigh and the young ladies," Fitzroy laid down his Times newspaper
with an expression that had best not be printed here, and took his hat
and walked away.

Mrs. Gashleigh has never liked him since he left off calling her mamma,
and kissing her. But he said he could not stand it any longer--he was
hanged if he would. So he went away to chambers, leaving the field clear
to Rosa, mamma, and the two dear girls.

Or to one of them, rather: for before leaving the house, he thought he
would have a look at little Fitzroy up stairs in the nursery, and he
found the child in the hands of his maternal aunt Eliza, who was holding
him and pinching him as if he had been her guitar, I suppose; so that
the little fellow bawled pitifully--and his father finally quitted the
premises.

No sooner was he gone, although the party was still a fortnight off,
than the women pounced upon his little study, and began to put it in
order. Some of his papers they pushed up over the bookcase, some they
put behind the Encyclopaedia. Some they crammed into the drawers--where
Mrs. Gashleigh found three cigars, which she pocketed, and some letters,
over which she cast her eye; and by Fitz's return they had the room as
neat as possible, and the best glass and dessert-service mustered on the
study table.