t the door gazed at him inquiringly.

"I--I want a little more hot water," said her master, mildly.

"More?" repeated Rosa. "Why, I brought you over a pint."

"I want some more," said Mr. Hartley. Then a bright thought struck him.
"I am expecting Miss Joan home every minute," he added, significantly.

Rosa tossed her head. "She ain't coming home till nine," she remarked,
"so if it's only for her you want the hot water, you won't want it."

"I--I thought I heard a man's voice," he said at last.

[Illustration: I thought I heard a man's voice 012]

"Very good," said her master, with an attempt at dignity; "you can go."

Rosa went, whistling. Mr. Hartley, feeling that he had done all that
could be expected of a man, sat down and resumed his tea. The rumbling
from the kitchen, as though in an endeavour to make up for lost time,
became continuous. It also became louder and more hilarious. Pale and
determined Mr. Hartley rose a second time and, seizing the bell-pull,
rang violently.

"Does anybody want to see me?" he inquired, as Rosa's head appeared.

"You? No," was the reply.

"I thought," said her master, gazing steadily at the window, "I thought
somebody was inquiring for me."

"Well, there hasn't been," said Rosa.

Mr. Hartley, with a magisterial knitting of the brows, which had
occasionally been found effective with junior clerks, affected to
ponder.

"I--I thought I heard a man's voice," he said at last.

"Nobody's been inquiring for you," said Rosa calmly. "If they did I
should come in and let you know. Nobody's been for you that I've heard
of, and I don't see how they could come without me knowing it."

"Just so," said Mr. Hartley. "Just so."

He turned to the mantelpiece for his tobacco-jar, and Rosa, after
standing for some time at the "ready" with a hostile stare, cleared her
throat noisily and withdrew. The voices in the kitchen broke out
with renewed vehemence; Mr. Hartley coughed again--a cough lacking
in spirit--and, going out at the front door, passed through the
side-entrance to the garden and tended his plants with his back to the
kitchen window.

Hard at work at the healthful pastime of weeding, his troubles slipped
from him. The path became littered with little tufts of grass, and he
Was just considering the possibility of outflanking the birch-broom,
which had taken up an advantageous position by the kitchen window, when
a young man came down the side-entrance and greeted him with re