, before he could take in
what she had actually said.

Her letter? He murmured some sort of assent, and entered on a dreamy
and protracted search for his pocket handkerchief. He was miserably
conscious that she was looking, looking down on him all the time. For
this lady was tall, so tall indeed that her gaze seemed to light on
his eyelids rather than his eyes. When he had found his courage and
his handkerchief he looked up and their eyes met half way. Hers were
brown with the tinge of hazel that makes brown eyes clear; they had a
liquid surface of light divided from their darkness, and behind the
darkness was more light, and the light and darkness were both
unfathomable.

These eyes were entirely unembarrassed by the encounter. They still
swept him with their long gaze, lucid, meditative, and a little
critical.

"You have been very prompt."

"We understood that no time was to be lost."

She hesitated. "Mr. Rickman understood, did he not, that I asked for
some one with experience?"

Most certainly Mr. Rickman understood.

"Do you think you will be able to do what I want?"

Her eyes implied that he seemed to her too young to have had any
experience at all.

Knowing that a sense of humour was not one of the things required of
him, he controlled a smile.

"We understood you wanted an expert, so I came myself."

"You are Mr. Rickman then?"

"Well--Mr. Rickman's son."

The lady puckered her brows as if trying to recall something, an idea,
a memory that escaped her. She gave it up.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Not more than half an hour or so."

"I am sorry. Perhaps you had better stay now and see what has to be
done."

He was tired, he had eaten nothing all day, his nerves were out of
order, and he had an abominable headache, but he intimated that he and
his time were at her service. She spoke with authority, and he
wondered who she was. Sir Frederick Harden's daughter? Or his sister?
Or his wife?

"As you see, the books are fairly well arranged. It will not take very
long to sort them."

Oh wouldn't it, though! His heart sank miserably as he followed her
progress round the room.

"They'll have to be catalogued under their subjects--alphabetically,
of course."

"Quite so."

She continued with the same swiftness and serenity, mistress of his
time and intelligence, as of her own luminous and elaborate plan.
"Their size will have to be given, the edition, the place and date of
publication,