so did his voice. It struck me
as being so quaintly like some voice I know quite well--and I stupidly
cannot remember whose."

The coffee-cups chattered upon the silver tray as Hordle handed it to
Miss Verity.

"You spoke to him then?" Sir Charles presently said.

"Oh! just in passing, you know, about the weather--which was phenomenally
bad, raining and blowing too wildly at the moment. I supposed you had
seen him. He seemed to be coming away from the house."

Charles Verity turned sideways to the table, bending down a little over
the tray as he helped him. The coffee splashed over into the saucer; yet
it was not the hand holding the coffee-pot, but those holding the tray
that shook. Whereupon Charles Verity glanced up into the manservant's
face, calmly arrogant.

"Pray be careful, Hordle," he said. And then--"Is Miss Verity right in
supposing Captain Faircloth called here this morning?"

"I beg your pardon, Sir Charles. Yes, Sir Charles, he did."

"What did he want?"

"He came to enquire after Miss Damaris, Sir Charles. I understood him to
say he was going away to sea shortly."

"Did he ask for me?"

"No, Sir Charles," rather hurriedly; and later, with visible effort to
recapture the perfection of well-trained nullity.--"He only asked after
Miss Damaris."

"When he calls again, let me know. Miss Damaris wishes to see him if she
is sufficiently well to do so."

"Very good, Sir Charles."

And during this conversation, Felicia felt keenly distressed and
perplexed. It made her miserable to think evil of anyone--particularly an
old and trusted servant. But from the moment of her arrival Hordle's
manner had seemed so very strange. Of course it was horrid even to
suspect such a thing; but was it possible that he over-indulged
sometimes, that he, in plain English, drank? Poor dear Charles--if he
knew it, what an additional worry! It really was too deplorable.--Anyway
she could alleviate his worries to a certain extent by carrying Theresa
off. She would do so at once.--Was there an evening train from
Stourmouth, which stopped at Paulton Halt? Well--if there wasn't she must
get out at Marychurch, and drive from there. She only trusted she would
be in time to dress for dinner. Harriet was such a stickler for
etiquette.

From all which it may be deduced that the confessions, made to Miss
Verity to-day, had this in common with those habitually heard by
her--that the point of the story had been rather carefully le