gs, with a comically satisfied, yet
penitent, look. "It is only a sort of breaking out,--a fit of 'igh
spirits. Hall men are so at times! It's _chick_ to run a little wild in
Paris. But Miss Britta, if _you_ were with me I should never run wild!"
Here his arm made another attempt to get round her waist--and again she
skillfully, and with some show of anger, avoided it.

"Ah, you're very 'ard upon me," he then observed, "Very, very, 'ard! But
I won't complain, my--my dear gal--one day you'll know me better!" He
stopped and looked at her very intently. "Miss Britta," he said
abruptly, "you've a great affection for your lady, 'aven't you?"

Instantly Britta's face flushed, and she was all attention.

"Yes, indeed!" she answered quickly. "Why do you ask, Mr. Briggs?"

Briggs rubbed his nose perplexedly. "It is not easy to explain," he
said. "To run down my own employers wouldn't be in my line. But I've an
idea that Clara--by which name I allude to my Lord Winsleigh's lady,--is
up to mischief. She 'ates _your_ lady, Miss Britta--'ates 'er like
poison!"

"Hates her!" cried Britta in astonishment. "Oh, you must be mistaken,
Mr. Briggs! She is as fond of her as she can be--almost like a sister to
her!"

"Clara's a fine actress," murmured Briggs, more to himself than to his
companion. "She'd beat Violet Vere on 'er own ground." Raising his voice
a little, he turned gallantly to Britta and relieved her of the basket
she held.

"Hallow me!" he said. "We'll walk to the 'ouse together. On the way I'll
explain--and you'll judge for yourself. The words of the immortal bard,
whose county we are in, occur to me as _aprerpo_,--'There are more
things in 'evin and 'erth, 'Oratio,--than even the most devoted domestic
can sometimes be aweer of.'"

And gently sauntering by Britta's side, Briggs began to converse in low
and confidential tones,--she listened with strained and eager
attention,--and she was soon receiving information that startled her and
set her on the alert.

Talk of private detectives and secret service! Do private detectives
ever discover so much as the servants of a man's own household?--servants
who are aware of the smallest trifles,--who know the name and position
of every visitor that comes and goes,--who easily learn to recognize the
handwriting on every letter that arrives--who laugh and talk in their
kitchens over things that their credulous masters and mistresses imagine
are unknown to all the world save th