ble or not, he was an unscrupulous
adventurer, this Jim Burke! And the other young man--the young bank
manager, who sat there balancing a cup of tea in one hand and one of the
pale-green Gunter's cakes in the other? He hadn't a word to say. There
he sat. I glanced at him. He looked wooden. But behind the woodenness
there was disapproval, I could see. Disapproval of the whole situation.
Ah! I shouldn't have to ask him what he thought of the Honourable Jim
Burke. I could read Mr. Brace's opinion of him written in every line of
Mr. Brace's clean-shaven, honest face that somehow didn't look so
handsome this afternoon. Showiness such as that of the big,
black-haired, blue-eyed Irishman is enough to "put out" the light of any
one else! Why, why did I allow Million to meet him? He'd take care that
this was not the only time! He was taking care of that.

I heard him saying something about taking Miss Million on the coach
somewhere. I saw Miss Million clap her hands that are still rather red
and rough from housework, manicure them as I will.

"What, me! On a coach? What, with all them lovely white horses and that
trumpeter?" cried Million gleefully. "Would I like it? Oh, Mr. Burke!"

Mr. Burke immediately began arranging dates and times for this
expedition. He said, I think, "the day after to-morrow----"

Oh, dear! What am I going to do about this? Forbid her to go? Up to now
everything that I have said has had such an immense influence upon
little Million. But now? What about that quite new gleam of defiance in
her grey eyes? Alas! the influence of one girl upon the actions of
another girl may be as "immense" as you please, but wait until it is
countermined by some newly appeared, attractive young scoundrel of a
man! (I am sure he is a scoundrel.)

I foresee heated arguments between my young mistress and myself, with
many struggles ahead.

Meanwhile, I feel that my only hope lies in Mr. Brace. Without a word
passing between us, I felt that he understood something of my anxiety in
this situation. He might be able to help me, though I think I should
have thought more of him if he had tried to talk a little this afternoon
instead of allowing the conversation to consist of a monologue by that
Irishman, punctuated by rapturous little Cockney comments from Miss
Million.

He, Mr. Brace, left first.

I glided away from my station at the table to open the door for him.

"Thank you," he said. "Good afternoon, Miss Lovelace."