. Though the twilight was coming on, his eyes had become
accustomed to the dimness in the room and he saw every change in her
pale, expressive face. She leaned back in her chair with eyes half
closed.

"I like to think that you would, if you knew how," she said presently.

"Do you not know that I would?"

She glanced quickly at him, and then, instead of answering, rose from
her seat and called to her maid through one of the doors, telling her to
bring the lamp. She sat down again, but being conscious that they were
liable to interruption, neither of the two spoke. Maria Consuelo's
fingers played with the silver knife, drawing it out of the book in
which it lay and pushing it back again. At last she took it up and
looked closely at the jewelled monogram on the handle.

The maid entered, set the shaded lamp upon the table and glanced sharply
at Orsino. He could not help noticing the look. In a moment she was
gone, and the door closed behind her. Maria Consuelo looked over her
shoulder to see that it had not been left ajar.

"She is a very extraordinary person, that elderly maid of mine," she
said.

"So I should imagine from her face."

"Yes. She looked at you as she passed and I saw that you noticed it. She
is my protector. I never have travelled without her and she watches over
me--as a cat watches a mouse."

The little laugh that accompanied the words was not one of satisfaction,
and the shade of annoyance did not escape Orsino.

"I suppose she is one of those people to whose ways one submits because
one cannot live without them," he observed.

"Yes. That is it. That is exactly it," repeated Maria Consuelo. "And she
is very strongly attached to me," she added after an instant's
hesitation. "I do not think she will ever leave me. In fact we are
attached to each other."

She laughed again as though amused by her own way of stating the
relation, and drew the paper-cutter through her hand two or three times.
Orsino's eyes were oddly fascinated by the flash of the jewels.

"I would like to know the history of that knife," he said, almost
thoughtlessly.

Maria Consuelo started and looked at him, paler even than before. The
question seemed to be a very unexpected one.

"Why?" she asked quickly.

"I always see it on the table or in your hand," answered Orsino. "It is
associated with you--I think of it when I think of you. I always fancy
that it has a story."

"You are right. It was given to me by a person w