sincerity) he had
repeatedly pressed her hand. "Have you any idea what all this means?"
she said, simply.

Mr. Rayburn kept his idea to himself. He professed ignorance; and asked
next what sort of person the housekeeper was.

Mrs. Zant shook her head ominously.

"Such a strange creature," she said, "and in the habit of taking such
liberties that I begin to be afraid she is a little crazy."

"Is she an old woman?"

"No--only middle-aged." This morning, after her master had left the
house, she actually asked me what I thought of my brother-in-law! I told
her, as coldly as possible, that I thought he was very kind. She was
quite insensible to the tone in which I had spoken; she went on from bad
to worse. "Do you call him the sort of man who would take the fancy of a
young woman?" was her next question. She actually looked at me (I might
have been wrong; and I hope I was) as if the "young woman" she had in
her mind was myself! I said: "I don't think of such things, and I don't
talk about them." Still, she was not in the least discouraged; she made
a personal remark next: "Excuse me--but you do look wretchedly pale."
I thought she seemed to enjoy the defect in my complexion; I really
believe it raised me in her estimation. "We shall get on better in
time," she said; "I am beginning to like you." She walked out humming a
tune. Don't you agree with me? Don't you think she's crazy?"

"I can hardly give an opinion until I have seen her. Does she look as if
she might have been a pretty woman at one time of her life?"

"Not the sort of pretty woman whom I admire!"

Mr. Rayburn smiled. "I was thinking," he resumed, "that this person's
odd conduct may perhaps be accounted for. She is probably jealous of any
young lady who is invited to her master's house--and (till she noticed
your complexion) she began by being jealous of you."

Innocently at a loss to understand how _she_ could become an object
of the housekeeper's jealousy, Mrs. Zant looked at Mr. Rayburn in
astonishment. Before she could give expression to her feeling of
surprise, there was an interruption--a welcome interruption. A waiter
entered the room, and announced a visitor; described as "a gentleman."

Mrs. Zant at once rose to retire.

"Who is the gentleman?" Mr. Rayburn asked--detaining Mrs. Zant as he
spoke.

A voice which they both recognized answered gayly, from the outer side
of the door:

"A friend from London."

X.

"WELCOME to St. Sallins!"