"Supper is insupportably late," says she; with a yawn, and rings the hand-bell. "Scipio," she cries, "why are we not served?"
I took a stride forward. But my uncle raised a restraining hand.
"Caroline, remember that this is not our house," says he, reprovingly.
There fell a deep silence; the log cracking; and just then the door swung on its hinges, and Mr. Starkie entered with the great bunch of keys in his hand.
"The buildings are all secure; Mr. Richard," he said.
"Very good, Starkie," I replied. I turned to Scipio, standing by the low-boy, his teeth, going like a castanet.
"You may serve at the usual hour, Scipio," said I.
Supper began stiff as a state banquet. My uncle was conciliatory, with the manners of a Crichton. My aunt, not having come from generations of silver and self-control, flatly in a bad humour. Mr. Allen talked from force of habit, being used to pay in such kind for his meals. But presently the madeira, warmed these two into a better spirit. I felt that I had victory on my side, and was nothing loth to join them at whist, Philip and I against the rector and my aunt, and won something like two pounds apiece from them. Grafton made it a rule never to play.
The next morning, when I returned from my inspection, I found the rector and Philip had decamped with two of our choice horses, and that my uncle and aunt had commanded the barge, and gone to Mr. Lloyd's. I sent for Scipio.
"Fore de Lawd, Marse Richard," he wailed, "'twan't Scipio's fault. Marse Grafton is dry fambly!" This was Scipio's strongest argument. "I jes' can't refuse one of de fambly, Marse Dick; and old Marse he say he too old now for quarrellin'."