n, wherein the most hateful and hideous is
frequently the most beloved, it remains true that even a king will
strut with added arrogance because of the ardent glance of a
serving-wench.

And so, failing to realise her tardiness, it was not unnatural that
Sally, entering the house by that historic side door and ascending the
staircase that led directly to her bedchamber, should think to stop a
moment and consult the mirror for confirmation of Mr. Trego's implicit
compliments.

As one result of this action, instigated in the first instance less by
vanity than by desire to avoid the crowds at the main entrances,
Sally uncovered another facet of mystery.

On entering, she left the side door heedlessly ajar, and there was
enough air astir to shut it with a bang as she turned up the
staircase. Two seconds later that bang was echoed by a door above, and
a quick patter of light footfalls followed. But by the time Sally
gained the landing there was no one visible in the length of the
corridor from end to end of that wing.

Now the door of the room opposite her was wide open on a dark
interior. And the room adjoining was untenanted, as she knew. It
seemed impossible that the second slam could have been caused by any
door other than that of her own bedchamber. Yet why should anyone have
trespassed there but one of the housemaids? And if the trespasser had
been a housemaid, why that sudden and furtive flight and swift
disappearance from the corridor?

Her speculations on this point were both indefinite and short-lived.
She thought her hearing must have deceived her; a hasty look round the
room discovered nothing superficially out of place, and the little
gilt clock on her dressing-table told her that she was already seven
minutes behind time. She delayed only for one hasty survey of the
flushed face with star-bright eyes that the mirror revealed, and then
with an inarticulate reflection that, after all, one could
hardly blame Mr. Trego very severely, Sally caught up her long dark
cloak and made off down the corridor, past the head of the main
staircase, to the door of Mrs. Gosnold's boudoir.

A voice sharp with vexation answered her knock; she entered to find
its owner fuming, and not only that, but surprisingly _en deshabille_.
The dress of Queen Elizabeth was gone, and Mrs. Gosnold stood on the
threshold of her bedchamber clothed simply in undergarments and
impatience.

"Why are you so late?" she demanded. "I was beginn