"Not particularly, I suspect," said Mr. King carelessly.

"And that you can talk with that chit, ignoring me, your cousin's wife,
is insufferable." Mrs. Chatterton now arose speedily from the divan, and
shook out a flounce or two with great venom. "I had intended to make you
a visit. Now it is quite impossible."

"As you like," said the old gentleman, also rising, and placing Phronsie
on her feet, observing ostentatious care to keep her hand. "My house is
open to you, Eunice," with a wave of his disengaged hand in old-time
hospitality, "but of course you must suit yourself."

"It's rather hard upon a person of sensibility, to come home after a six
years' absence," said Cousin Eunice with a pathetic sniff, and once more
seeking her vinaigrette in the depths of the silken bag, "to meet only
coldness and derision. In fact, it is very hard."

"No doubt, no doubt," said the old gentleman hastily, "I can imagine
such a case, but it has nothing to do with you. Now, if you are going to
stay, Eunice, say so at once, and proceed to your room. If not, why you
must go, and understand it is no one's fault but your own."

He drew himself up and looked long and hard into the thin pale face
before him. Phronsie pulled at his hand.

"I want to ask the lady to stay, Grandpapa dear."

"She doesn't need urging," said old Mr. King quite distinctly, and not
moving a muscle.