And stand each happy Christmas beneath the mistletoe,
And Grandpa comes up softly——"
"Ruthie! Stop that."
"But Daddy, it's my piece!"
Mark sank into a chair with a sort of groan.
"The Rector's daughter gives them lessons, and she will teach them these things," he confided to Miss Marchrose, who responded almost more sympathetically than was courteous.
"We've just come to the end."
Accordingly, when Ruthie's final assertion of her hypothetical grandparent's infatuation had died away, and Lady Rossiter had said coldly, "Very nice, Ruthie dear," and Mr. Garrett had muttered something about we votaries of the Muse to Iris, and everybody else had maintained an unenthusiastic silence, Mark Easter bribed, commanded, and cajoled his children into immediate disappearance from the drawing-room.
"Auntie Iris will come and tuck you up, darlings," exclaimed Miss Easter winningly, waiting until they might safely be assumed to be well out of hearing, and merely with the evident intention of captivating Mr. Douglas Garrett.
He immediately joined her as she stood, still fluttering music-leaves.