end," was the interpretation I put on it.

At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs. Tenbruggen's
reply was too perfectly satisfactory, viewed as an explanation. My
suspicions were by no means set at rest; and I was resolved not to let
the subject drop yet. "Speaking of Mr. Gracedieu, and of the chances of
his partial recovery," I said, "do you think the Minister would benefit
by Massage?"

"I haven't a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor."

"You think he would be an obstacle in the way?"

"There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to the general
rule; and he may be one of them," Mrs. Tenbruggen admitted. "Don't be
too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to the most tyrannical trades-union
in existence. May I make a personal remark?"

"Certainly."

"I find something in your manner--pray don't suppose that I am
angry--which looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of me."

Miss Jillgall's ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: "Oh, no,
Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed you are wrong now.
Look at my distinguished friend. I remember my copy book, when I was
a small creature learning to write, in England. There were first lines
that we copied, in big letters, and one of them said, 'Distrust Is
Mean.' I know a young person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass
of meanness. But"--excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a
gesture of triumph--"no meanness there!"

Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully insensible
to Miss Jillgall's well-meant interruption.

"You are not altogether mistaken," I told her. "I can't say that my mind
is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me."

"How, if you please?"

"May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr.
Gracedieu's house-door? You saw that I failed to recognize you, and
you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it. A few days
afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid Miss Jillgall to
mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss to understand it."

Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of the
farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain what had
puzzled me, at the first opportunity. "If it escapes my memory," she
said, "pray remind me of it."

I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her to tell
me the truth, might be quite another thing.

CHAPTER XLVIII. THE DECISION