of the basin a pile of
books was arranged in disorderly fashion enough, but with some little
method. An idea flashed in upon her. They were arranged in that manner
to hide something upon the floor.

She made a quick motion forward. Then she stopped short, and lifted her
eyes to the door. Her cheeks burned, and her heart beat fast. Sir Allan
Beaumerville was standing on the threshold, looking at her in mute
amazement, and over his shoulder was the pale stern face of Mr. Brown.

CHAPTER VI

A TERRIBLE ENEMY

Afterwards Helen looked back upon those few moments as the most
uncomfortable of her life. She was caught in the very act of a most
unwarrantable and even immodest intrusion, which in the eyes of these
two men could only appear like the attempted gratification of a
reprehensible and vulgar curiosity. She made one spasmodic attempt to
kindle her suspicions into a definite accusation, to stand upon her
dignity, and demand an explanation of what she had seen. But she failed
utterly. Directly she tried to clothe the shreds of this idea of hers
with words, and to express them, she seemed to vividly realize the
almost ludicrous improbability of the whole thing. One glance into the
pale, dignified face which was bent upon her full of unconcerned
surprise--and hateful to her with a gentle shade of pity at her
confusion already creeping into it--and her attempt collapsed. She felt
her cheeks burn with shame, and her eyes drooped before his steady gaze.
She began to long feverishly for something to dissolve the situation.
The silence was dreadful to her, but she could think of nothing to say.
It was Mr. Brown, at last, who spoke.

"I was afraid you would not be able to find your way, Miss Thurwell," he
said quietly. "I must apologize for asking you to come into such a den.
The small engraving on the wall is the proof 'Bartolozzi' I spoke to you
about. The head is perfect, is it not? Some day I should like to show
you my 'Guido.' I am afraid, just now, I could not expect you to
appreciate them."

She murmured something--what, she scarcely knew, and he did not appear
to hear. The cold surprise disappeared from Sir Allan's face. Evidently
he believed in Mr. Brown's mercifully offered explanation of her
presence here.

"What! are you an enthusiast, Miss Thurwell?" he exclaimed. "Well, well,
I was worse myself once in my younger days, before my profession made a
slave of me. Surely, that is a genuine 'Velasquez,' Mr