Ormiston pulled forward a chair and sat down by him, leaning forward, his hands clasped about one knee, while he gazed at the tulips scattered on the floor.
"So tell Miss Cathcart we all want her to come over to Brockhurst just as often as she can," he continued, "and help us to make the wheels go round a little faster. Tell her we've grown very old, and discreet, and respectable, and that we are absolutely incapable of doing or saying anything foolish or naughty, which she would object to—and——"
But Richard could restrain himself no longer. "Why don't you tell her yourself, Uncle Roger?"
"Because, my dear old chap, a burnt child fears the fire. I tried to tell Miss Cathcart something once, long ago. She mayn't remember——"
"She does remember," Mary said quietly, looking down at Richard's hand and patting it as it lay on her lap.
"But she stopped me dead," Ormiston went on. "It was quite right of her. She gave the most admirable reasons for stopping me. Would you care to hear them?"
"Oh! don't, pray don't," Mary murmured. "It is not generous."
"Pardon me, your reasons were absolutely just—true in substance and in fact. You said I was a selfish, good-for-nothing spendthrift, and so——"
"I was odious," she broke in. "I was a self-righteous little Pharisee—forgive me——"
"Why—there's nothing to forgive. You spoke the truth."