appen to-night."

At that point in the conversation, we were interrupted by the appearance
of Betteredge with the tea-tray. He gave me another significant look as
he passed on into the sitting-room. "Aye! aye! make your hay while the
sun shines. The Tartar's upstairs, Mr. Jennings--the Tartar's upstairs!"

We followed him into the room. A little old lady, in a corner,
very nicely dressed, and very deeply absorbed over a smart piece of
embroidery, dropped her work in her lap, and uttered a faint little
scream at the first sight of my gipsy complexion and my piebald hair.

"Mrs. Merridew," said Miss Verinder, "this is Mr. Jennings."

"I beg Mr. Jennings's pardon," said the old lady, looking at Miss
Verinder, and speaking at me. "Railway travelling always makes me
nervous. I am endeavouring to quiet my mind by occupying myself as
usual. I don't know whether my embroidery is out of place, on this
extraordinary occasion. If it interferes with Mr. Jennings's medical
views, I shall be happy to put it away of course."

I hastened to sanction the presence of the embroidery, exactly as I had
sanctioned the absence of the burst buzzard and the Cupid's wing. Mrs.
Merridew made an effort--a grateful effort--to look at my hair. No! it
was not to be done. Mrs. Merridew looked back again at Miss Verinder.

"If Mr. Jennings will permit me," pursued the old lady, "I should like
to ask a favour. Mr. Jennings is about to try a scientific experiment
to-night. I used to attend scientific experiments when I was a girl at
school. They invariably ended in an explosion. If Mr. Jennings will be
so very kind, I should like to be warned of the explosion this time.
With a view to getting it over, if possible, before I go to bed."

I attempted to assure Mrs. Merridew that an explosion was not included
in the programme on this occasion.

"No," said the old lady. "I am much obliged to Mr. Jennings--I am aware
that he is only deceiving me for my own good. I prefer plain dealing.
I am quite resigned to the explosion--but I DO want to get it over, if
possible, before I go to bed."

Here the door opened, and Mrs. Merridew uttered another little scream.
The advent of the explosion? No: only the advent of Betteredge.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Jennings," said Betteredge, in his most
elaborately confidential manner. "Mr. Franklin wishes to know where you
are. Being under your orders to deceive him, in respect to the presence
of my young lady in the ho