efore beginning her labours. It
made Bunting feel quite uncomfortable. As he sat by the fire reading
his morning paper--the paper which was again of such absorbing
interest--he called out, "There's no need for so much hurry, Ellen.
Daisy'll be back to-day. Why don't you wait till she's come home to
help you?"

But from the hall where she was busy dusting, sweeping, polishing,
his wife's voice came back: "Girls ain't no good at this sort of
work. Don't you worry about me. I feel as if I'd enjoy doing an
extra bit of cleaning to-day. I don't like to feel as anyone could
come in and see my place dirty."

"No fear of that!" Bunting chuckled. And then a new thought struck
him. "Ain't you afraid of waking the lodger?" he called out.

"Mr. Sleuth slept most of yesterday, and all last night," she
answered quickly. "As it is, I study him over-much; it's a long,
long time since I've done this staircase down."

All the time she was engaged in doing the hall, Mrs. Bunting left
the sitting-room door wide open.

That was a queer thing of her to do, but Bunting didn't like to get
up and shut her out, as it were. Still, try as he would, he couldn't
read with any comfort while all that noise was going on. He had
never known Ellen make such a lot of noise before. Once or twice he
looked up and frowned rather crossly.

There came a sudden silence, and he was startled to see that. Ellen
was standing in the doorway, staring at him, doing nothing.

"Come in," he said, "do! Ain't you finished yet?"

"I was only resting a minute," she said. "You don't tell me nothing.
I'd like to know if there's anything--I mean anything new--in the
paper this morning."

She spoke in a muffled voice, almost as if she were ashamed of her
unusual curiosity; and her look of fatigue, of pallor, made Bunting
suddenly uneasy. "Come in--do!" he repeated sharply. "You've
done quite enough--and before breakfast, too. 'Tain't necessary.
Come in and shut that door."

He spoke authoritatively, and his wife, for a wonder, obeyed him.

She came in, and did what she had never done before--brought the
broom with her, and put it up against the wall in the corner.

Then she sat down.

"I think I'll make breakfast up here," she said. "I--I feel cold,
Bunting." And her husband stared at her surprised, for drops of
perspiration were glistening on her forehead.

He got up. "All right. I'll go down and bring the eggs up. Don't
you worry. For the matter of that, I