t, then the sound of a light
step across the floor, and after that she said with a catch in her
voice,--

"I'll be pleased you should come in, Mr. O'Ruddy."

I tried the door, but found it locked.

"How can I come in, Lady Mary," says I, "if you've got bolts held
against me?"

"There are no bolts," said Lady Mary; "the key should be on the
outside. I am locked in. Look for the key and open the door."

Was ever a more delightful sentence spoken to a man? My heart was in
my throat with joy. I glanced down, and there, sure enough, stuck the
key. I turned it at once, then pulled it out of the lock and opened
the door.

"Lady Mary," says I, "with your permission, it seems to me a door
should be locked from the inside."

With that I thrust the key through the far side of the door, closed
it, and locked it. Then I turned round to face her.

The room, it was plain to be seen, was the parlour of a lady,--a
boudoir, as they call it in France, a word that my father was very
fond of using, having caught it when he was on the campaign in that
delightful country. The boudoir was full of confections and charming
little dainties in the way of lace, and easy chairs, and bookcases,
and little writing-desks, and a work-basket here and there; but the
finest ornament it possessed was the girl who now stood in the middle
of the floor with a frown on her brow that was most becoming. Yes,
there was a frown on her brow, although I expected a smile on her lips
because of the cordial invitation she had given me to come in.

It would seem to either you or me that if a lady suffered the
indignity of being locked in her room, just as if she was a child of
six years old, she would welcome with joy the person who came and
released her. Now, my father, who was the wisest man since
Solomon,--and indeed, as I listened to him, I've often thought that
Solomon was overpraised,--my father used to say there was no mystery
at all about women. "You just think," he would say, "of what a
sensible man would do on a certain occasion; then configure out in
your mind the very opposite, and that's what a woman will do." A man
who had been imprisoned would have held out his hand and have said,
"God bless you, O'Ruddy; but I'm glad to see you." And here stood this
fine lady in the middle of her room, looking at me as if I were the
dirt beneath her feet, and had forced my way into her presence,
instead of being invited like a man of honour to enter.

"Well,