rs similarly encircled with gilded wood. The grate, fender and
fire-irons were of polished brass, and round the walls were numerous
electric lamps with yellow shades. The whole room represented a
bizarre appearance, flamboyant and rather tropical in looks.
Apparently Miss Loach was fond of vivid colors. There was no piano,
nor were there books or papers, and the only evidence as to how Miss
Loach passed her time revealed itself in a work-basket and a pack of
cards. Yet, at her age, Susan thought that needlework would be rather
trying, even though she wore no glasses and her eyes seemed bright and
keen. She was an odd old lady and appeared to be rich. "I'll engage
you," said Miss Loach abruptly; "get your box and be here before five
o'clock this afternoon. I am expecting some friends at eight o'clock.
You must be ready to admit them. Now go!"

"But, ma'am, I--"

"In this house," interrupted Miss Loach imperiously, "no one speaks to
me, unless spoken to by me. You understand!"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Susan timidly, and obeyed the finger which
pointed to the door. Miss Loach listened to the girl's footsteps on
the stairs, and sat down when she heard the front door close. But she
was up again almost in a moment and pacing the room. Apparently the
conversation with Susan Grant afforded her food for reflection. And
not very palatable food either, judging from her expression.

The newly-engaged servant returned that same afternoon to the suburban
station, which tapped the district of Rexton. A trunk, a bandbox and a
bag formed her humble belongings, and she arranged with a porter that
these should be wheeled in a barrow to Rose Cottage, as Miss Loach's
abode was primly called. Having come to terms, Susan left the station
and set out to walk to the place. Apart from the fact that she saved a
cab fare, she wished to obtain some idea of her surroundings, and
therefore did not hurry herself.

It was a bright June day with a warm green earth basking under a blue
and cloudless sky. But even the sunshine could not render Rexton
beautiful. It stretched out on all sides from the station new and raw.
The roads were finished, with asphalt footpaths and stone curbing, the
lamp-posts had apparently only been lately erected, and lines of white
fences divided the roads from gardens yet in their infancy. Fronting
these were damp-looking red brick villas, belonging to small clerks and
petty tradesmen. Down one street was