mother lived, and was depressed at what she saw and felt. Mrs.
Grier's face was not that of one who had good news. The long arms almost
hurt when they embraced her. Yet Carnac was a subject of talk between
them--open, clear eyed talk. The woman did not know what to say,
except to praise her boy, and the girl asked questions cheerfully,
unimportantly as to sound, but with every nerve tingling. There was,
however, so much of the comedienne in her, so much coquetry, that only
one who knew her well could have seen the things that troubled her
behind all. As though to punish herself, she began to speak of Tarboe,
and Mrs. Grier's face clouded; she spoke more of Tarboe, and the gloom
deepened. Then, with the mask of coquetry still upon her she left
Carnac's mother abashed, sorrowful and alone.

Tarboe had called in her absence. Entering the garden, he saw Denzil at
work. At the click of the gate Denzil turned, and came forward.

"She ain't home," he said bluntly. "She's out. She ain't here. She's up
at Mr. Grier's house, bien sur."

To Tarboe Denzil's words were offensive. It was none of Denzil's
business whether he came or went in this house, or what his relations
with Junia were. Democrat though he was, he did not let democracy
transgress his personal associations. He knew that the Frenchman was
less likely to say and do the crude thing than the Britisher.

Tarboe knew of the position held by Denzil in the Shale household; and
that long years of service had given him authority. All this, however,
could not atone for the insolence of Denzil's words, but he had
controlled men too long to act rashly.

"When will Mademoiselle be back?" he asked, putting a hand on himself.

"To-night," answered Denzil, with an antipathetic eye.

"Don't be a damn fool. Tell me the hour when you think she will be at
home. Before dinner--within the next sixty minutes?"

"Ma'm'selle is under no orders. She didn't say when she would be
back--but no!"

"Do you think she'll be back for dinner?" asked Tarboe, smothering his
anger, but get to get his own way.

"I think she'll be back for dinner!" and he drove the spade into the
ground.

"Then I'll sit down and wait." Tarboe made for the verandah.

Denzil presently trotted after and said: "I'd like a word with you."

Tarboe turned round. "Well, what have you got to say?"

"Better be said in my house, not here," replied Denzil. His face was
pale, but there was fire in his eyes. There was n