were, he did not reply quite so eagerly
as Miss De Stancy seemed to expect to her kind suggestion, and Paula
remarked to him, 'You will stay to lunch? Do order it at your own time,
if our hour should not be convenient.'

Her voice was a voice of low note, in quality that of a flute at
the grave end of its gamut. If she sang, she was a pure contralto
unmistakably.

'I am making use of the permission you have been good enough to grant
me--of sketching what is valuable within these walls.'

'Yes, of course, I am willing for anybody to come. People hold these
places in trust for the nation, in one sense. You lift your hands,
Charlotte; I see I have not convinced you on that point yet.'

Miss De Stancy laughed, and said something to no purpose.

Somehow Miss Power seemed not only more woman than Miss De Stancy, but
more woman than Somerset was man; and yet in years she was inferior to
both. Though becomingly girlish and modest, she appeared to possess a
good deal of composure, which was well expressed by the shaded light of
her eyes.

'You have then met Mr. Somerset before?' said Charlotte.

'He was kind enough to deliver an address in my defence yesterday. I
suppose I seemed quite unable to defend myself.'

'O no!' said he. When a few more words had passed she turned to Miss De
Stancy and spoke of some domestic matter, upon which Somerset withdrew,
Paula accompanying his exit with a remark that she hoped to see him
again a little later in the day.

Somerset retired to the chambers of antique lumber, keeping an eye
upon the windows to see if she re-entered the carriage and resumed her
journey to Markton. But when the horses had been standing a long time
the carriage was driven round to the stables. Then she was not going to
the vegetable show. That was rather curious, seeing that she had only
come back for something forgotten.

These queries and thoughts occupied the mind of Somerset until the bell
was rung for luncheon. Owing to the very dusty condition in which he
found himself after his morning's labours among the old carvings he was
rather late in getting downstairs, and seeing that the rest had gone in
he went straight to the dining-hall.

The population of the castle had increased in his absence. There were
assembled Paula and her friend Charlotte; a bearded man some years older
than himself, with a cold grey eye, who was cursorily introduced to him
in sitting down as Mr. Havill, an architect of Markton;