ible in all that," said Randal.

"At first it was what he was, not what he did," said Caldegard. "Tall,
slender, effeminate, over-dressed, native coarseness which would not be
hidden by spasmodic attempts at fine manners, and a foul habit of
scenting his handkerchiefs and even his clothes with some weird stuff he
made himself; left a trail behind him wherever he went. It smelt
something like a mixture of orris-root and attar of roses."

Amaryllis wiped her lips, and Dick Bellamy thought her cheeks nearly as
white as the little handkerchief.

"What did the fellow do?" asked Randal.

"For one thing, I discovered that he carried a hypodermic syringe; so I
watched him--morphia--not a bad case, but getting worse. And then," said
Caldegard, looking towards his daughter, "he had the presumption----"

"Oh, father, please!" cried Amaryllis.

"I'm sorry, my dear," said her father. "I was only----"

He was interrupted by a crash, a fumbling and a burst of flame. One of
the four-branched candlesticks had been upset, and its rose-coloured
shades were on fire. Very coolly the two Bellamys' pinched out the
flames and replaced the candles.

"Hope that didn't startle you, Miss Caldegard," said Randal.

"Not a bit," said Amaryllis, smiling.

"What a clumsy devil you are, Dick," he continued.

"I was trying to get the sugar," said Dick.

Randal tasted his coffee. "Cook's got one fault, Dick," he said. "She
can't make coffee; and we've been spoiled."

"Yes, indeed," said Caldegard. "I've never in my life drunk black coffee
to beat what your yellow-haired Dutch girl used to make."

Randal turned to his brother. "Parlour-maid, Dick. Best servant I ever
had. Didn't mind the country, and after she'd been here a fortnight
disclosed a heaven-sent gift for making coffee. Took some diplomacy, I
can tell you, to get cook to cede her rights."

"Why haven't you got her now?" asked Dick.

"Mother started dying in Holland," replied his brother, "and we miss our
coffee."

"I'll do it to-morrow night," said Dick.

"What'll Rogers say?" said Randal.

"Rogers? You don't tell me you've got Rogers still?"

"Of course I have."

"Not _my_ Mrs. Rogers!" exclaimed Dick. "Why, she'd let me skate all
over her kitchen, if I wanted to."

* * * * *

Randal Bellamy, although he had a motor-car and used the telephone,
lagged lovingly behind the times in less important matters. He was proud
of his brass candles