"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. She made no answer, and for a time he debated some problems with himself. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. Cloud back of your hat!" He opened his eyes again. "I eat for both.
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