“Then, at any rate, you shall have some tea. Rosie, run and fetch the little kettle.”
“And the Beauchamp cup and saucer,” added Rose, proudly producing the single relic of a well-remembered set of olden times. “And please, please, Aunt Ermine, let me sit up to make it for him. I have not seen him all day, you know; and it is the first time he ever drank tea in our house, except make-believe with Violetta and Colinette.”
“No, Rose. Your aunt says I spoil that child, and I am going to have my revenge upon you. You must see the wild beast at his meals another time; for it just happens that I have a good deal to say to your aunts, and it is not intended for your ears.”
Rose showed no signs of being spoilt, for she only entreated to be allowed “just to put the tea-things in order,” and then, winking very hard, she said she would go.
“Here, Rose, if you please,” said Ermine, clearing the space of table before her.
“Why, Aunt Ermine, I did not know you could make tea!”
“There are such things as extraordinary occasions, Rose. Now, good night, my sweet one.”
“Good night, my Lady Discretion. We will make up for it one of these days. Don’t stay away, pray, Ailie,” as Alison was following the child. “I have nothing to say till you come back.”
“I know it is good news,” said Ermine; “but it has cost you something, Colin.”
Instead of answering, he received his cup from her, filled up her tea-pot, and said—