in rather a hesitating
manner: 'Etta and Lady Betty have been shopping in Brighton, and they
came back by a late train, and now Etta is shut up with Giles in his
study. Some letters that came by this morning's post had to be answered.'

'Miss Darrell is Hamilton's secretary, is she not?'

'She writes a good many of his letters. Giles is rather idle about
correspondence, and she helps him with his business and accounts. Etta
is an extremely busy person.'

'Miss Hamilton used to be busy too,' returned Max quietly. 'I always
considered you an example to our ladies. I lost one of my best workers
when I lost you.'

A painful colour came into Miss Hamilton's face.

'Oh no,' she protested, rather feebly. 'Etta is far cleverer than I at
parish work. Teaching does not make her head ache.'

'Yours used not to ache last summer,' persisted Uncle Max, but she did
not seem to hear him. She had turned to me, and there was almost an
appealing look in her beautiful eyes, as though she were begging me to
talk.

'Oh, do you know, Miss Garston,' she said nervously, 'that Giles was very
nearly sending for you last night? He was with Mrs. Blagrove's little
girl until five this morning; the poor little creature died at half-past
four, and he told us that he thought half a dozen times of sending for
you.'

'I wish he had done so. I should have been so glad to help.'

'Yes, he knew that, but he said it would have been such a shame rousing
you out of your warm bed; and he had not the heart to do it. So he
stopped on himself; there was really nothing to be done, but the parents
were in such a miserable state that he did not like to leave them. He was
so tired this afternoon that he dropped asleep instead of writing his
letters: that is why Etta has to do them.'

'Who is talking about Etta?' observed Miss Darrell, coming in at that
moment, with a quick rustle of her silk skirt, looking as well-dressed,
self-possessed, and full of assurance as ever. 'Why are you good people
sitting in the dark? Thornton would have lighted the candles if you had
rung, Gladys; but I suppose you forgot, and were dreaming over the fire
as usual. Miss Garston, I suppose I ought to apologise for being late,
but we are such busy people here; every moment is of value; and though
Gladys asked you to come early, I never thought you would be so good as
to do so. Friendly people are scarce, are they not, Mr. Cunliffe? By the
bye,' holding up a taper finger loaded w