“Then please don’t tease me, uncle.”
“But what will old Vinnicombe say?”
“Uncle dear,” she whispered, appealingly. “There then, my pet, I won’t,” he said. “What time do you expect Jack and Rue?”
“By about four o’clock, uncle dear.”
“That’s right, my pet, and now you must bustle. See that there’s plenty of jolly good fires, for I hate people to come and find the place chilly. Let’s give ’em a warm reception, and I’ll see if I can’t fill up some of old Vinnicombe’s wrinkles out of his face. Let me see, I want some more tobacco. Hah!” he cried, after a deep draught, “that’s good ale. Taste it, pet.”
Sage took the tankard with a smile, raised the creaking lid, and put her lips to it to please him.
“Fine, ain’t it, lass?”
“Capital, uncle.”
“I say, Sage, if that don’t make old Vinnicombe smile I’m a Dutchman. By the way, my dear, shall I ask Cyril Mallow to drop in?”
“Uncle!” cried Sage, turning pale.