“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, “it’s getting late. Perhaps I had better not come in now.”
“The tea will be waiting,” said his brother, holding his arm lightly as he rang.
“Horribly dark for my walk back afterwards,” grumbled Uncle Luke. “Really dangerous place all along there by the cliff. No business to be out at night. Ought to be at home.”
“Tea ready, Liza?” said George Vine, as the door was opened, and the pleasant glow from the hall shone upon them in a way that, in spite of his assumed cynicism, looked tempting and attractive to Uncle Luke.
“Miss Louise hasn’t rung for the urn yet, sir.”
“Hah! that will do. Give me your hat, Luke.”
“Bah! nonsense! Think I can’t hang up my own hat now.”
George Vine smiled, and he shook his head at his brother with a good-humoured smile as he let him follow his own bent.
“That’s right. Come along. Louie dear, I’ve brought Uncle Luke up to tea. All dark? Liza, bring the lamp.”
Liza had passed through the baize-covered door which separated the domestic offices from the rest of the house, and did not hear the order.