, and of anybody else who dares to be pretty and," with
crushing meaning, "to look at Morris Monk."

Eliza gasped, then said in a tragic whisper, "Stephen, you insult me.
Oh! if only we were at home, I would tell you----"

"I have no doubt you would--you often do; but I'm not going home at
present. I am going to the Northwold hotel."

"Really," broke in their hostess, almost wringing her hands, "this is
Sunday, Mr. Layard; remember this is Sunday."

"I am not likely to forget it," replied the maddened Stephen; but over
the rest of this edifying scene we will drop a veil.

Thus did the advent of Stella bring with it surprises, rumours, and
family dissensions. What else it brought remains to be told.

CHAPTER XII

MR. LAYARD'S WOOING

The days went by with an uneventful swiftness at the Abbey, and after he
had once accustomed himself to the strangeness of what was, in effect,
solitude in the house with an unmarried guest of the other sex, it may
be admitted, very pleasantly to Morris. At first that rather remarkable
young lady, Stella, had alarmed him somewhat, so that he convinced
himself that the duties of this novel hospitality would prove irksome.
As a matter of fact, however, in forty-eight hours the irksomeness was
all gone, to be replaced within twice that period by an atmosphere of
complete understanding, which was comforting to his fearful soul.

The young lady was never in the way. Now that she had procured some
suitable clothes the young lady was distinctly good looking; she was
remarkably intelligent and well-read; she sang, as Stephen Layard
had said, "like an angel"; she took a most enlightened interest in
aerophones and their possibilities; she proved a very useful assistant
in various experiments; and made one or two valuable suggestions. While
Mary and the rest of them were away the place would really be dull
without her, and somehow he could not be as sorry as he ought when
Dr. Charters told him that old Mr. Fregelius's bones were uniting with
exceeding slowness.

Such were the conclusions which one by one took shape in the mind of
that ill-starred man, Morris Monk. As yet, however, let the student
of his history understand, they were not tinged with the slightest
"arriere-pensee." He did not guess even that such relations as already
existed between Stella and himself might lead to grievous trouble; that
at least they were scarcely wise in the case of a man engaged.

All he felt, all he