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"It's that worritting oven, ma'am" turning to nurse; "I assure you we do have a time with it sometimes." The tea began merrily, and just in the middle of it the door opened, and James Seton's sunburnt face looked in. He carried a basket which Bobbie pounced upon eagerly, for he knew it contained the long-expected guinea-pigs.
"I don't question your motives, but to fetch me out here and then insult me was not a wise proceeding on your part." Seton's hand clenched involuntarily. But he had put himself in the wrong, and he knew it. "Very well," he said at length, with a shrug. "I apologise for the expression. But my opinion of you remains unaltered." Merefleet ignored the qualification.
"My dear girl, you will never make a social ornament of me as long as you live," he said. And Mab patted his arm affectionately. "You're nicer as you are, dear boy," she said. "You aren't smart, it's true, but I give you the highest mark for real niceness." Seton's eyes met Merefleet's for a second. There was a touch of uneasiness about him, as if he feared Merefleet might misconstrue something.
Seton's wife was in the chariot awaiting him, having safely in her possession a small packet of a black powder, which was, in fact, the philosopher's stone, or ingredient for the transmutation of iron and copper into gold.
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