t each meal. If he had been a lover besieging a beautiful
girl's heart he could not have been more attentive, while he was
absolutely impervious to all the chilling rebuffs she gave him.

I think that the touch of malice which is always a part of this man's
humor was gratified by the frigid annoyance which the elder Mrs.
Graham exhibited toward his attentions. At any rate, he kept them up
until the very hour of his departure.

It was when he happened to be alone with me on the veranda a few
moments before the coming of the taxi which was to bear them to their
homeward train that he gave me the real explanation of his conduct.

"Tell me, loveliest lady," he said, with the touch of exaggeration
which his manner always holds toward me, "tell me, haven't I squared
up part of your account with the old girl this last week?"

"Why, what do you mean?" I stammered.

"Don't pretend such innocence," he retorted. "If you want me to tell
you in so many words, I beg leave to inform you that I've been doing
my little best to annoy your august mother-in-law to pay her off for
her general cussedness toward you, and, incidentally, me."

"But she hasn't been cross to me," I protested.

"Not the last three or four days perhaps, but I'll bet you've had
quite a dose since she came to live at your house, and you'll have
another if she ever finds out my wicked designs upon you." He smiled
mockingly and took a step nearer to me. "Don't forget you owe me a
kiss," he said, with teasing maliciousness, referring to the time when
he had threatened to "kiss me under water." "Don't you think you had
better give in to me now?"

Dicky's step in the hall prevented my rebuking him as I wished. I
told myself that, of course, his persistent reference to that kiss was
simply one of mockery and I also admitted to myself that as much as I
loved Lillian I was glad that her husband was to be no longer a guest
in our house.

XXXI

A MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

"Well, my dear, what are you mooning over that you didn't see me come
in? I beg your pardon, Madge, what is the matter? Tell me."

Lillian Underwood stood before me a week after her visit to us.
Lillian, whose entrance into the small reception room of the Sydenham,
at which we had an appointment, I had not even seen. She stood looking
down at me with an anxious, alarmed expression in her eyes.

"There is nothing the matter," I returned, evasively.

"Don't tell me a tarradiddle, my dear," L