so should happen, glad to meet
somebody; and wistfully, but yet timidly, she wondered which it would
be. All at once she heard a step behind her. In spite of herself she
started and flushed, and, turning, saw Mr. Petter. The sight of this
worthy gentleman was a shock to her. She had been sure he was sitting
with Calthea Rose on the bluff. If it was not he, who was it?

[Illustration: CALTHEA HOLDS HIM WITH HER LISTENING EAR.]

"I am glad to see you, Mrs. Cristie," said the landlord of the inn, "for
I want to speak with you. My mind is disturbed, and it is on account of
your assistant, Miss Mayberry. She has been talked about in a way that I
do not at all like. I may even say that my wife has been urging me to
use my influence with you to get her dismissed. I assured Mrs. Petter,
however, that I should use that influence, if it exists, in exactly the
opposite direction. Shall we walk on together, Mrs. Cristie, while I
speak further on the subject? I have a high opinion of Miss Mayberry. I
like her because she is what I term blooded. Nothing pleases me so much
as blooded service, and, I may add, blooded associations and
possessions. So far as I am able to have it so, my horses, my cattle,
and all my live stock are blooded. I consider my house, this inn, to be
a blooded house. It can trace its various lines of architectural
ancestry to honorable origins. The company at my house, with the
exception of Lanigan Beam,--who, however, is not a full guest, but
rather a limited inmate, ascending by a ladder to his dormitory,--are,
if you will excuse me for saying so, blooded. And that one of these
guests should avail herself of blooded service is to me a great
gratification, of which I hope I shall not be deprived. To see a vulgar
domestic in Miss Mayberry's place would wound and pain me, and I may
say, Mrs. Cristie that I have been able to see no reason whatever for
such substitution."

Mrs. Cristie had listened without a word, but as she listened she had
been asking herself who that could be with Calthea Rose. If it was not
Walter Lodloe, who was it? And if it was he, why was he there? And if he
was there, why did he stay there? Of course she was neither jealous nor
worried nor troubled by such a thing, but the situation was certainly
odd. She had come out expecting something, she did not know exactly
what; it might not have been a walk among the sweet-pea blossoms, but
she was very certain it was not a conversation with Mr. P