'Take him this, and send him off politely; but no message,
Dingee, if you want to wag your tongue in this house!'
'Ye' sir. Got to be one somehow, sure!' said Dingee. ' 'Bout sumfin Mass' Morton done say to Miss Hazel. Real stupid feller he is dat come—can't make out what he says, nohow.'
'About a drive,' said Wych Hazel, looking over once more at her guardian. 'I expect you to say no, sir.'
'What did you say, my dear?'
'I said I would ask you, sir—the shortest way to a negative.'
Her lips were getting in a curl again.
Mr. Falkirk went out to speak to Mr. Morton's messenger, and coming back again stood looking down at the basket of fruit with the wreath of white orchids lying across it.
'I hope you are grateful to fortune, my dear,' he remarked rather grimly.
'I hope you are, sir,—I have nothing to do with that concern,' said Wych Hazel with prompt decision.
'You don't know,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'It's an enchanted basket, Miss Hazel. Looks innocent enough; but I know there are several little shapes lurking in its depths—ants or flies or what not—which a little conjuration from you would turn into carriage horses, pony and all.'
'They are safe to eat grapes in the shape of ants and flies for the term of their natural lives,' said Rollo contentedly. He did not care for Mr. Morton. Indeed he looked as if it would be difficult to disturb him, more than superficially, about anything. And that, not for want of elements of disturbance, but because of other elements of character, which in their strength slumbered, and perhaps were scarcely self- conscious. The last words moreover were a shield over Wych Hazel's possible shyness. However it was, Mr. Falkirk looked across from the orchids to him, and considered him somewhat fixedly.