“No, no, certainly not, my dear Jack. No more quarrelling, but I think this time I’ll hold to my word.”
“Now, my dear old fellow,” cried Sir John, gripping his brother’s shoulders more tightly, and shaking him to and fro, “do be reasonable. Look here: I’ve asked little Lucy Alleyne to come sans façon, and—”
“Is she coming?” cried the major, eagerly.
“Yes, and you can talk toadstools as long as you like.”
The major seemed to be hesitating, and he looked curiously at his brother.
“Is Alleyne coming?”
“I asked him, but he is very doubtful; perhaps he is glued to the end of his telescope for the next twelve hours. Here, have that confounded baggage put away.”
The major looked a little more thoughtful. He was hesitating, and thinking of Glynne, who just then tapped softly at the door.
“Come in,” roared Sir John; and she entered, looked quickly from one to the other, and then went up to her uncle, and kissed him affectionately.
“There,” cried Sir John, looking half-pleased, half-annoyed; “it’s enough to make a man wish you would go, Jem.”