man in his kitchen against whom he felt the keenest
personal animosity. Crane would have dearly liked to go down and turn
him out, but he resisted the impulse, which somehow savored of Tucker in
his mind. And what, by the way, had Tucker been doing in the kitchen?
And Smithfield, why had Smithfield tried to interfere with his seeing
the cook? He found plenty of food for reflection.

Among other things he had to consider his return to the drawing-room.
Looking at his watch he observed that a longer time had elapsed since he
left it than he had supposed. There would be comments, there would be
attempted jokes from Tucker. Well, that would be easily met by a
question as to Tucker's own interest in the culinary art. Mrs.
Falkener's methods of attack were not subtle, either. But Cora--he
wished Cora would not just look at him as if he had done something
cruel.

But, as is so often the way when we prepare ourselves for one situation,
quite another one turns up. The three were not sitting, awaiting his
return. The drawing-room was empty except for Mrs. Falkener, who was
reading when he entered, and instead of betraying a conviction that he
had been too long away, she looked up and said chattily:

"Well, did you reduce the young woman to order?"

"That is a good deal to expect from an unaided male, isn't it?" said
Burton, very much relieved.

"Ah, it depends on the male, my dear Burton. You, I imagine, could be
very terrifying if you wished to be. What did the young woman do? Weep,
protest, declare that it had all taken place quite without her consent?"

Burton smiled. He had no intention whatsoever of sharing his recent
experiences with Mrs. Falkener.

"Ah," he said, "I see you know your own sex thoroughly. Where are Tuck
and your daughter?"

"Solon is taking a turn on the piazza; he hopes it will make him sleep
better; and Cora was tired and has gone to bed." Mrs. Falkener sighed.
"Cora doesn't seem very well to me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," returned Crane. "I thought she was looking
very fit this evening." He spoke more lightly than he felt, however, for
something portentous in Mrs. Falkener's tone struck him with alarm.

"Sit down, Burton," said she, sweeping her hand toward a cushioned stool
at her side. "I want to say something to you."

Crane found himself obeying, with his hands between his knees, and his
toes turned in, like a school boy who has forgotten his lesson; then,
becoming aware of this pose, h