t was because Miss Rand never occurred to any single creature in
the Portland Place house as a sentient breathing human being that she
succeeded as she did. She had no prejudices, no angers, no rebellions,
no rejoicings. She was the little engine at the heart of the house that
sent everything into motion. "One can't imagine her eating her meals,
Mrs. Newton," Mr. Norris once said. "And as to her sleeping like you or
me----"

To see her now as she put the final touches to her room before leaving
it, arranging a paper here and a paper there, going to the bookshelf and
pushing back a book that jutted in front of the others, setting a chair
against the wall, placing the blotting-pad exactly in the middle of the
table, finally taking her hat and coat and putting them on with the same
careful and almost automatic distinction--this sufficiently revealed
her. She seemed, as she looked for the last time about the room with her
bright eyes, like some sharp little bird, perched on a window-sill,
looking beyond closed windows for new adventure.

It was one of the striking points in her that her eyes always seemed to
be searching for some disorder in some place outside her immediate
vision.

She closed the door behind her. As she stepped into the passage someone
was coming down the staircase to her right, and looking up she saw that
it was Rachel Beaminster. Rachel was on her way from her grandmother's
room, and before she saw Miss Rand standing there, waiting to let her
pass, her face was grave and, in that half-light, strangely white. Then,
as she saw Miss Rand, she smiled--

"Good evening, Miss Rand."

"Good evening, Miss Beaminster."

"I'm afraid that this ball is giving you a lot of trouble."

"I think that everything is arranged now, Miss Beaminster. I hope that
it will be a great success."

Rachel sighed and then laughed.

"Don't I wish the whole stupid thing was over. And I expect you do too!"

Miss Rand smiled a very little. "It's good for the servants," she said.
"They're always happy when they're really busy."

For a moment they stood there smiling. It occurred to Rachel that Miss
Rand must be rather nice. She had never thought of her before as
anything but Aunt Adela's secretary.

"Good night, Miss Rand."

"Good night, Miss Beaminster."

II

In Portland Place Miss Rand drew a little breath and paused. So many
times during the last five years had she walked from Portland Place to
Saxton Square, and f