"Oh, how do you feel, Patergrey?" cried Rob, springing to his side.
"I'll have nothing of the sort; I'll have a cup of this fragrant brew," declared Mr. Grey. "I feel all right, Rob, my son, only a trifle lame. I am sure the doctor exaggerated the case, though I confess I wouldn't have thought anything an exaggeration of it while it lasted. This bread and butter tastes uncommonly good! Rob, my son, can I borrow you after this repast is over? I need your help on a special bit of work for an hour."
"Oh, come now, Mr. Grey!" protested Bruce Rutherford, involuntarily.
"'Vester, I implore of you, not to-night!" cried his wife, in such distress that, as the girls added their voices to the chorus of frightened protest, Mr. Grey looked from one to the other, and visibly weakened. But Miss Charlotte clinched matters.
"You have no moral right to disregard Dr. Fairbairn, and the warning you have had, Sylvester Grey," she cried. "Besides, you are to take me home, and I am going to keep you to tea. I want to see you quite alone, but Wythie and Rob shall come for you, and bring you home in triumph."
"Well, one man against so many of the earth's rulers," Mr. Grey began. "Boys, won't you stand by me?"
"No, sir; not if you want to work to-day," said Basil; while Bruce added: "I'm beginning to think they rule the earth because they're better fit to do so. No, sir; we're on their side."
"You're beginning to cater to their love of flattery, you young humbug," said Mr. Grey. "Well, if I must yield, I might as well yield gracefully."
And later Miss Charlotte bore him away, leaving more hope behind her in the little grey house than had seemed possible three hours earlier.