"I couldn't possibly, Frances; I couldn't land; and then I had to dress. The tide kept us out. It has vexed me above a bit, I can tell you."
"You look vexed," she retorted, regarding his laughing countenance.
"I am vexed; but it is of no use to weep over it. You know I want to stand well with my uncle. I suppose you have finished dinner?"
"Ages ago."
"Where are the rest of you ladies?"
"In the next room, quarrelling. Lady Sarah is treating Adela to a bit of her mind—and she deserves it. Now, Gerard, behave yourself. What do you want to come so close to me for?"
For Mr. Gerard Hope was squeezing himself beside her on a small ottoman, meant for only one portly personage. He did more than that: he stole his arm round her waist.
"I believe Uncle Hope wants to adopt me," cried Gerard. "Won't it be jolly. No more scratch, scratch, scratch away with a pen all the blessed day."
"I called it 'slavery' to them just now," interrupted Frances.
"Good girl! No more getting up by candle-light in winter, and trudging off through the frost and through the thaw without breakfast, which you have not had time to take! It will be a change—if he does it. I'm not sure of it yet."