somehow
my tongue felt tied. It was almost a relief when she turned the
conversation.

Soon the daylight faded and the servants brought lamps.

"It is almost five," she said, at last "What a happy afternoon we have
had! I know you ever so much better now, dear. Well, I suppose the
time has come to put on tea-gowns and descend to see how affairs are
progressing."

I rose.

"I am going to call you Ambrosine," she said, and she kissed me. "I
am not given to sudden friendships, but there is something about
your eyes that touches me. Oh, dear, I hope fate will not force you
to commit some mid-summer madness, as I did, to regret to the end of
your days!"

All the way to my room her words puzzled me. What could she mean?

XII

The scene was picturesque and pretty as I looked at it from the
gallery that crosses the hall.

Tea was laid out on a large, low table, with plates and jam and cakes
and muffins--a nice, comfortable, substantial meal. A fire of whole
logs burned in the colossal, open chimney. The huge, heavily shaded
lamps concentrated all the light beneath them, viewed from above.

And like a group of summer-flowers the women, in their light and
fluffy tea-gowns, added the touch of grace to the heavy darkness of
the old stone walls. I paused a while and watched them.

Lady Grenellen, gorgeous as a sultana, seemed to have collected all
the cushions to enhance her comfort as she lay back in a low, deep
sofa. Augustus sat beside her. From here one could not see his
ugliness, and the dark claret color of his smoking-suit rather set off
her gown. She had the most alluring expression upon her face, which
just caught the light. His attitude was humble. The storm, for the
present, was over between them.

Two other women, the heiress, Babykins, and Lord Tilchester, and
several young men sat round the table like children eating their
bread-and-jam.

The Duke and Miss Martina B. Cadwallader were examining the armor.
Some one was playing the piano softly. Merry laughter floated upward.
I doubt if any other country could produce such a scene. It would have
pleased grandmamma.

"Why, by the stars and stripes, there is a ghost in the gallery!"
exclaimed Miss Corrisande K. Trumpet, pointing to me. The faint
glimmer of my white velvet tea-gown must have caught her eyes as I
moved away.

"No, I am not a ghost," I called, "and I am coming down to eat hot
muffins." So I crossed and descended the turret stairs.