Mrs. Mel examined him with those eyes of hers that compassed objects in a
single glance. She drew her finger on each side of her upper lip, and
half smiled, saying:

'That won't do here.'

'What?' asked Evan, and proceeded immediately to make inquiries about her
health, which she satisfied with a nod.

'You saw him lowered, Van?'

'Yes, mother.'

'Then go and wash yourself, for you are dirty, and then come and take
your place at the head of the table.'

'Must I sit here, mother?'

'Without a doubt--you must. You know your room. Quick!'

In this manner their first interview passed.

Mrs. Fiske rushed in to exclaim:

'So, you were right, aunt--he has come. I met him on the stairs. Oh!
how like dear uncle Mel he looks, in the militia, with that moustache.
I just remember him as a child; and, oh, what a gentleman he is!'

At the end of the sentence Mrs. Mel's face suddenly darkened: she said,