with a prim and bridling air, and
once more her expression challenged me. "Deny it if you can, sir!" was
evidently her unspoken thought.

"And how long has my--ahem!--has Captain Pendarves been employing you,
may I ask?" I said, wondering that Crump had not prepared me for this as
for the other changes.

"Young man," said Mary Smith severely, "I have no time to stand here
answering idle questions. If you want to see Captain Pendarves, I will
speak to him; but if not, I really think you had better be getting on,
for it's late."

"I was thinking of stopping awhile," said I humbly, "with my
grandfather. You see, I'm Nicol Pendarves."

Had I said, "I am the Prince of Darkness," the announcement could not
have wrought a more appalling change in her. She fell back a step,
putting out one faltering hand to the wall for support. Her small
bullying mien vanished like a garment twitched from her shoulders by
unseen magic. Her face blanched piteously; terror looked from her eyes.
"Oh, I was afraid of this!" she gasped, in a voice that went to the
heart. "Sir, I--I--meant no harm!"

"Harm!" said I, both touched and puzzled. "Why, you've done none. There
is no need for excuses. I never saw a better steward; you did not know
me, and you were within your rights to send me about my business."

"Sir," she said, still in a tremble, "I have done no wrong. You will
find everything just as you left it."

"I shall find everything in a good deal better case, judging by what
I've seen already, I think," said I heartily. "How long have you been
here?"

"Four weeks--next Wednesday," she answered nervously.

"Then," said I, "maybe you can tell me something about the drift of
things here. For--not to boggle about it--I am in some uneasiness, Miss
Smith. These people--this man and woman who I hear have settled
themselves upon Captain Pendarves of late--who are they? what are they?"

As I spoke we emerged upon the stone-paved walk leading to our kitchen
door; it had been picked free of weeds, and the currant-bushes on either
side trimly harnessed up to a set of stakes. A white curtain flounced
behind the old lattice; there was a row of flowering geraniums in pots
upon the sill. Through the open door you might see a clear fire and Mary
Smith's saucepans glowing on the wall. The place, I thought, wore, for a
kitchen, the best air conceivable of decent and humble dignity; nor
would one have supposed that mere thrift and cleanliness could be