What noble burden for the victorious strength.
Dear old Mrs.Dunster was dispensing tea, looking from time to time with interest towards Miss Moorsom.

The aged statesman having eaten a raw tomato and drunk a glass of milk (a habit of his early farming days, long before politics, when, pioneer of wheat-growing, he demonstrated the possibility of raising crops on ground looking barren enough to discourage a magician), smoothed his white beard, and struck lightly Renouard's knee with his big wrinkled hand.
"You had better come back to-night and dine with us quietly." He liked this young man, a pioneer, too, in more than one direction.
Mrs.Dunster added: "Do.

It will be very quiet.

I don't even know if Willie will be home for dinner." Renouard murmured his thanks, and left the terrace to go on board the schooner.

While lingering in the drawing-room doorway he heard the resonant voice of old Dunster uttering oracularly-- ".