"Mother, don't you think that Miss Briscoe is a very strange girl?"

Lady St. Maurice looked up from her work quickly. Nine o'clock was just
striking, and her son only a moment before had replaced his watch in his
pocket with an impatient little gesture.

"Yes, I do think so," she answered quietly. "I think her very strange
indeed. Why do you ask me?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, I don't know exactly. It seems odd that she should want to spend
all her evening alone, and that she should have so many long letters to
write. Do you think that she quite understands that you would like her
to come down with us?"

"I am quite sure that she does, Lumley. I even objected to having her
come here as a governess at all. Her mother was a dear friend of mine
many years ago, and I told Margharita from the first that I would rather
have her here as my daughter. She would have been very welcome to a home
with us. It was only her pride which made her insist upon coming as
Gracie's governess, and I suppose it is the same feeling which prompts
her to keep herself so much aloof from us. I am sorry, but I can do no
more than I have done toward making her see things differently."

Lord Lumley fidgeted about for a minute or two on the hearthrug. There
was a certain reserve in his mother's manner which made the task which
he had set himself more difficult even than it would have been under
ordinary circumstances. Besides, he felt that from her low seat she was
watching him intently, and the knowledge did not tend toward setting him
more at his ease.

"You loved her mother, then?"

"I did. She was my dearest friend."

"And yet--forgive me if I am wrong--but sometimes I fancy that you do
not even like Miss Briscoe."

"She will not let me like or dislike her, Lumley."

He shook his head.

"It isn't that exactly. I have seen you watching her sometimes--as for
instance when she sang that Sicilian song here--as though you
were--well, almost afraid of her; as though there was something about
her which almost repelled you."

The Countess laid down her work, and looked steadfastly into the fire.
There was a moment's silence.

"You have been a close watcher, Lumley."

"I admit it. But, tell me, have I not watched to some purpose. There is
no mistaking the look in your face sometimes, when she comes into the
room unexpectedly. If the thing were not absurd, I should say that you
were afraid of her."

Lady St. Maurice held her