Montressor would tamely yield her mistress-ship to the stranger. But
others, who were taken with her loveliness and grace, said that the
tales told were born of envy and malice, and that Alicia Montressor
was well worthy of her name and station.

So I halted between two opinions and thought to judge for myself, but
when I went to the Place my Uncle Hugh and his bride were gone for a
time, and I had even to swallow my disappointment and bide their
return with all my small patience.

But my aunts and their stepmother talked much of Alicia, and they
spoke slightingly of her, saying that she was but a light woman and
that no good would come of my Uncle Hugh's having wed her, with other
things of a like nature. Also they spoke of the company she gathered
around her, thinking her to have strange and unbecoming companions for
a Montressor. All this I heard and pondered much over, although my
good aunts supposed that such a chit as I would take no heed to their
whisperings.

When I was not with them, helping to whip eggs and stone raisins, and
being watched to see that I ate not more than one out of five, I was
surely to be found in the wing hall, poring over my book and grieving
that I was no more allowed to go into the Red Room.

The wing hall was a narrow one and dim, connecting the main rooms of
the Place with an older wing, built in a curious way. The hall was
lighted by small, square-paned windows, and at its end a little
flight of steps led up to the Red Room.

Whenever I had been at the Place before--and this was often--I had
passed much of my time in this same Red Room. It was Mrs. Montressor's
sitting-room then, where she wrote her letters and examined household
accounts, and sometimes had an old gossip in to tea. The room was
low-ceilinged and dim, hung with red damask, and with odd, square
windows high up under the eaves and a dark wainscoting all around it.
And there I loved to sit quietly on the red sofa and read my fairy
tales, or talk dreamily to the swallows fluttering crazily against the
tiny panes.

When I had gone this Christmas to the Place I soon bethought myself of
the Red Room--for I had a great love for it. But I had got no further
than the steps when Mrs. Montressor came sweeping down the hall in
haste and, catching me by the arm, pulled me back as roughly as if it
had been Bluebeard's chamber itself into which I was venturing.

Then, seeing my face, which I doubt not was startled enough, she