“

You are quite sure,” the girl said anxiously, “that Miss Thorpe-Hatton wants to see me? You see there’s a train at ten o’clock I could catch.”

The housekeeper looked up from the menu she was writing, and tapped the table impatiently with her pencil.

“My dear child,” she said, “is it likely I should keep you here without orders? We have sent a telegram to your mother, and you are to wait until the mistress is ready to see you.”

“What time does she generally get down?” Letty asked.

“Any time,” Mrs. Brown answered, resuming her task. “She was back early last night, only stayed an hour at the ball, so she may send for you at any moment. Don’t fidget about so, there’s a good girl. I’m nervous this morning. We’ve twenty-four people dining, and I haven’t an idea in my head. I’m afraid I shall have to send for FranÇois.”

“Is FranÇois the man-cook who comes down to Thorpe?” Letty asked.

Mrs. Brown nodded.

“The chef you should call him,” she answered. “A very clever man, no doubt, in his way, but takes a lot of keeping in order.”

“Do you have to look after all the servants?” Letty asked. “Doesn’t Miss Thorpe-Hatton ever order anything?”

Mrs. Brown looked pityingly at her guest.

“My dear child,” she said, “I doubt if she could tell you to three or four how many servants there are in the house, and as to ordering anything, I don’t suppose such a thought’s ever entered into her head. Here’s James coming. Perhaps it’s a message for you.”

A footman entered and greeted Letty kindly.

“Good morning, young lady!” he said. “You are to go into the morning-room at once.”

Letty rose with alacrity.

“Is—is she there?” she asked nervously.

“She is,” the man answered, “and if I were you, miss, I wouldn’t do much more than just answer her questions and skedaddle. I haven’t had any conversation with her myself, but mademoiselle says she’s more than a bit off it this morning. Slept badly or something.”

“Don’t frighten the child, James,” Mrs. Brown said reprovingly. “She’s not likely to say much to you, my dear. You hurry along, and come back and have a glass of wine and a biscuit before you go. Show her the way, James.”

“If you please, miss,” the man answered, becoming once more an automaton.

Letty was ushered into a small room, full, it seemed to her as she entered, of sunshine and flowers. Wilhelmina, in a plain white-serge gown, with a string of beads around her neck of some strange-coloured shade of blue, was sitting in a high-backed easy-chair. A small wood fire was burning in the grate, filling the room with a pleasant aromatic odour, and the window leading into the square was thrown wide open.

On a table by her side were a pile of letters, an ivory letter-opener, several newspapers, and a silver box of cigarettes. For the moment, however, none of these things claimed her attention. The lady of the house was leaning back in her chair, and her eyes were half closed. If she had not been sitting with her back to the light, Letty might have noticed the dark rings under her eyes. It was true that she had not slept well.

Letty advanced doubtfully into the room. Wilhelmina turned her head.

“Oh, it is you,” she remarked. “Come up to the table where I can see you.”

“Mrs. Brown told me that you wished to see me before I went,” the girl said hesitatingly.

Wilhelmina was silent for a moment. She was looking at the girl. Yes! she was pretty in a rustic, uncultured way. Her figure was unformed, her hands and feet what might have been expected, and it was obvious that she lacked taste. Were men really attracted by this sort of thing?

“Yes!” Wilhelmina said, “I wish to speak to you. I am not altogether satisfied about last night.”

Letty said nothing. She went red and then white. Wilhelmina’s examination of her was merciless.

“I wish to know,” Wilhelmina said, “who your companion was—with whom you had dinner and supper. I look upon that person as being responsible for your lost train.”

Letty prayed that she might sink into the ground. Her worst imaginings had not been so bad as this. She remained silent, tongue-tied.

“I’m waiting,” Wilhelmina said mercilessly. “I suppose it is obvious enough, but I wish to hear from your own lips.”

“I—he—I don’t think that he would like me to tell you, ma’am,” she faltered.

Wilhelmina smiled—unpleasantly.

“Probably not,” she answered. “That, however, is beside the question. I wish to know.”

The girl was desperate. It was indeed a quandary with her. To offend the mistress of Thorpe was something like sacrilege, but she knew very well what Stephen would have had her do.

“If you please, ma’am,” she said at last, “I can’t.”

Wilhelmina said nothing for a moment, only her eyebrows were slowly lifted.

“If you do not,” she said, calmly, “I must write to your mother and tell her what I think of your behaviour last night. I do not care to have people near me who are disobedient, or—foolish.”

The girl burst into tears. Wilhelmina watched her with cold patience.

“I presume,” she said, “that it was Mr. Macheson. You do not need to mention his name. You need only say ‘Yes!’”

The girl said nothing.

“Mr. Macheson lodged with your mother, I believe?” Wilhelmina continued.

“Yes!” the girl whispered.

“And you waited upon him?”

“Yes!”

The girl lifted her head.

“Mr. Macheson always behaved like a gentleman to me,” she said.

Wilhelmina regarded her contemptuously.

“Your ideas of what constitutes gentlemanly behaviour are probably primitive,” she said. “I do not think that I need trouble you for any direct answer. Still, it would be better for you to give it.”

The girl was again silent. There was a knock at the door. The footman ushered in Stephen Hurd.

He entered confident and smiling. He was wearing a new grey tweed suit, and he was pleased with himself and the summons which had brought him to London. But the sight of the girl took his breath away. She, too, was utterly taken by surprise, and forgot herself.

“Stephen!” she exclaimed, taking a quick step towards him.

“You! You here!” he answered.

It was quite enough! But what puzzled Letty was that Wilhelmina did not seem in the least angry. There was a strange look on her face as she looked from one to the other. Something had sprung into her eyes which seemed to transform her. Her voice, too, had lost all its hardness.

“How do you do, Mr. Hurd?” she said. “I hope you have come to explain how you dared let this child lose her train last night.”

“I—really I—it was quite a mistake,” he faltered, darting an angry glance at Letty.

“You had supper with her,” Wilhelmina said, “and you knew what time the train went.”

“She met some other friends,” Stephen answered. “She left me.”

Wilhelmina smiled. She had found out all that she wanted to know.

“Well,” she said, “I won’t inquire too closely into it this time, only I hope that nothing of the sort will occur again. You had better have lunch with Mrs. Brown in the housekeeper’s room, Letty, and I’ll send you over to St. Pancras for the four o’clock train. I’ll give you a letter to your mother this time, but mind, no more foolishness of this sort.”

The girl tried to stammer out her thanks, but she was almost incoherent. Wilhelmina dismissed her with a smile. Her manner was distinctly colder when she turned to Hurd.

“Mr. Hurd,” she said, “I hope you will understand me when I say that I do not care to have my agent, or any one connected with the estate, play the Don Juan amongst my tenants’ daughters.”

He flushed up to the eyes.

“It was idiotic of me,” he admitted frankly. “I simply meant to give the child a good time.”

“She is quite pretty in her way,” Wilhelmina said, “and her parents, I believe, are most respectable people. You were perhaps thinking of settling down?”

He looked at her in amazement.

“What, with Letty Foulton!” he exclaimed.

“Why not?” she asked.

He drew a breath through his teeth. He could scarcely trust himself to speak for anger.

“You—are not serious?” he permitted himself to ask.

“Why not?” she demanded.

Hurd struggled to express himself with dignity.

“I should not consider such a marriage a suitable one, even if I were thinking of marrying at all,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows.

“No? Well, I suppose you know best,” she said carelessly. “Is there anything fresh down at Thorpe?”

She was angry about that fool of a girl, he told himself. A good sign. But what an actress! His conceit barely kept him up.

“There really isn’t anything I couldn’t arrange with Mr. Fields,” he admitted. “I thought, perhaps, as I was up, you might have some special instructions. That is why I sent to ask if you would see me.”

He looked at her almost eagerly. After all, she was the same woman who had been kind to him at Thorpe. And yet, was she? A sudden thought startled him. She was changed. Had she guessed that he knew her secret?

“No!” she said deliberately. “I do not think that there is anything. If you could find out Mr. Macheson’s address I should be much obliged.”

Hurd was puzzled. This was the second time. What could she have to say to Macheson?

“He was here last night, but I forgot to ask him,” she continued equably.

“Macheson, here!” he exclaimed.

“It was he who brought the girl, Letty,” she said.

He was silent for a moment.

“He’s a queer lot,” he said. “Came to Thorpe, of all places, as a sort of missioner, and he was about town last night most immaculately got up; nothing of the parson about him, I can assure you.”

“No!” she answered quietly. “Well, if you can discover his address, remember I should be glad to hear it.”

He took up his hat reluctantly. He had hoped at least that he might have been asked to luncheon. It was obvious, however, that he was expected to depart, and he did so. On the whole, although he had escaped from an exceedingly awkward situation, he could scarcely consider his visit a success. On his way out he passed Deyes, stepping out of a cab piled up with luggage. He nodded to Hurd in a friendly manner.

“Miss Thorpe-Hatton in?” he asked.

“Just left her,” Hurd answered.

Deyes passed on, and was received by the butler as a favoured guest. He was shown at once into the morning-room.