(He was close on seventy. But who could have been cruel enough to say so,
at that moment?)

My answer proved to be so encouraging to the old gentleman that he
ventured on the subject of Madame Fontaine's late husband. "Was she very
fond of him, David? What sort of man was he?"

I informed him that I had never even seen Dr. Fontaine; and then, by way
of changing the topic, inquired if I was too late for the regular
supper-hour at Main Street.

"My dear boy, the table was cleared half an hour ago. But I persuaded our
sour-tempered old housekeeper to keep something hot for you. You won't
find Keller very amiable to-night, David. He was upset, to begin with, by
writing that remonstrance to your aunt--and then your absence annoyed
him. 'This is treating our house like an hotel; I won't allow anybody to
take such liberties with us.' Yes! that was really what he said of you.
He was so cross, poor fellow, that I left him, and went out for a stroll
on the bridge. And met my fate," added poor Mr. Engelman, in the saddest
tones I had ever heard fall from his lips.

My reception at the house was a little chilly.

"I have written my mind plainly to your aunt," said Mr. Keller; "you will
probably be recalled to London by return of post. In the meantime, on the
next occasion when you spend the evening out, be so obliging as to leave
word to that effect with one of the servants." The crabbed old
housekeeper (known in the domestic circle as Mother Barbara) had her
fling at me next. She set down the dish which she had kept hot for me,