on in a
horrid little pestering, too-much-married person like myself."

IV

It was lucky that the maid selected that moment for answering the bell.
Things were getting uncomfortably personal. Tabs had the idea that
Maisie had been talking against time till she should hear the footsteps
of her reenforcements. As the maid entered, she turned towards her with
the brightness of relief.

"That's splendid of you, Porter. You guessed what we wanted.--Porter
always guesses what I want, Lord Taborley; she's my second self. And
Porter can tell your fortune from the cards--can't you, Porter? Only she
never reads the cards on a Sunday; she says it brings bad luck. If you
come here often, you must try her.--You might take that dish from
her.--Thanks awfully. There's room for it here on this corner of the
tray."

Tabs smiled inwardly while he did his awkward best to make himself
useful. He might know very little about women, but he knew intuitively
quite a lot about this particular woman. He knew that Porter had guessed
nothing, because nothing had been left to chance. He knew it as surely
as he had known what Maisie had been doing in front of her mirror while
he had been kept waiting. He knew that long before his arrival every
detail of his reception had been prepared and planned, and that Porter
had been instructed. The whole morning had been spent in dusting,
sweeping, polishing and making ready the various dishes of dainty cakes
and neatly-cut sandwiches which were being spread before him. He was
certain that the kindly patronage of Maisie's way of addressing Porter
was another part of the conspiracy.

Curiously enough it was Porter who made him like and trust her more than
he had done as yet. Porter's eyes, when they rested on her mistress,
embraced her with a slavish worship; when they rested on him, they
warned and dared him. He had the feeling that the man who made Maisie
cry was likely to feel a knife in his back. Maisie must be good to be
able to call forth such fanatical loyalty from a humble woman. He began
to be infected by this atmosphere of idolatry. And yet----

What was Maisie's object in belittling his love for Terry? What did she
hope to gain by it? He hardly dared allow himself to suspect; thinking
in her presence was like speaking aloud. She heard unspoken words as
plainly as those that were uttered. But the suspicion would not be
suppressed. Had she formed the audacious plan of winning him for
herself?