"What a constant plague that man is!" said Isabella, as she sorted her wools. "There is no doing anything for him. I do believe he has been here every day for the last fortnight."
"Oh, I say!" commented Charley; "take that cum grano salis, Celia. I think he has been three times."
"Don't dispute with Bell, Charley; it doesn't signify."
"My dear, he won't dispute with me," observed Isabella, calmly, selecting different shades of scarlet. "I never dispute—it is too much trouble, takes my attention from my work."
She went on comparing her scarlets, and Charley, on receiving this rebuke, buried himself for five minutes in the adventures of Æneas. For a time all was silence except for the slight sound of Celia's needle and Lucy's slate-pencil.
"Where is Father?" inquired Madam Passmore, coming into the room with a rather troubled look.
Charley was up in a second. "He is in the stable; I saw him go. Shall I run and fetch him?"
"Ask him to come to me in the dining-room."
And both Charley and his mother disappeared.
"What is the matter now?" asked Lucy; but as nobody answered her, she went back to her arithmetic.