race--a woman has a quick
eye for such trifles.

"You are Esmay, daughter of Mad Scarlett," he began, gently. "My
intrusion is unseasonable, perhaps, but none the less unavoidable."

The girl made no answer.

"I will speak to the point," he went on. "Are you ready to make choice,
to-night, between young Ulick and his oafish cousin Boris? I have a
reason for asking, believe me."

Esmay flushed with annoyance. "I will not listen to either of them," she
said. "Boris I detest, and Ulick is only a boy, and a silly one; I have
told him so a score of times."

"I thought as much, but I wanted the confirmation of your own lips, my
dear child. The knowledge emboldens me to offer you an asylum under my
own roof for the next few months--or longer. Ulick, as you say, is but a
boy, half hot, half muddle-head. He, perhaps, could be kept in
check----"

"I can manage that sufficiently well," broke in the girl, haughtily.

"No doubt, no doubt; but with Boris also in the field the situation
becomes a complicated one. Accordingly, I have concluded to offer you my
assistance in dealing with it."

"It is difficult to think of Master Quinton Edge in the light of a
disinterested adviser. Perhaps you have other motives."

"Possibly," returned the man, with calm assurance. "Why not a dozen of
them? But to disclose them--this is not the time. You have only to
accept my offer and be thankful."

"Suppose that I refuse?"

Quinton Edge glanced over his shoulder, and the three men who had been
standing motionless in the shadow of the doorway took a step forward.

"You perceive that there is no such alternative," he said, suavely.

The girl started but kept herself in hand. "My sister goes with me?"

"No," said Quinton Edge.

But Nanna's arms were already encircling her treasure. She had entered
unobserved, and she had heard enough to understand. "You!" she said, and
spat at Quinton Edge.

The man's face paled. He stepped forward as though making to push the
intruder away. In a flash she had turned upon him and her teeth closed
upon the fleshy part of his right hand. He shook her off as one does a
snake.

"A true forest-cat," said Quinton Edge, and smiled as he twisted a fine
lawn handkerchief about the wounded member. Then, with entire
good-humor: "I apologize for my incivility and truth; it were a biting
rejoinder. Madam, you, too, are welcome to my poor house. With such a
dragon in the garden, he will be a brave man indeed who