had a suspicion
that it might be Dalton, but was not sure, never having seen him but
once, when he was much younger.

"Who do you want to see?" she asked at last, in a firm voice.

Dalton wheeled sharply, and took her in with one comprehensive glance.
He had always prided himself on never having been outwitted or taken
unawares, and that Lady Barbara could lock herself in her room, and that
this woman could creep up behind him unobserved, rather nettled him.

"I don't know that it is any of your business, my good woman,"
he answered, his insolence increasing as he noticed how mild and
inoffensive she appeared to be; "but if it makes any difference to you,
I will tell you that I am waiting for my wife."

"Where is she?" Martha's voice was clear and incisive, with a ring of
determination through it that, for the moment, disconcerted him.

Dalton pointed to the bedroom door.

Martha stepped across the room and tried the knob. "Open the door, Lady
Barbara. It's Martha. Who is this man?"

The bolt shot back and Barbara's frightened face peered out. "Oh, thank
God you have come!" she moaned, her teeth chattering. "It is Mr. Dalton.
I ordered him from the room, and he would not go, and--"

"Oh, it's Mr. Guy Dalton, is it?" Martha cried, facing him. "The man
who's been a curse to you ever since you met him. I know every crook and
turn of you--you ought to be ashamed of yourself to treat a woman as you
have treated Lady Barbara O'Day. Now, sir, this is my room and you can't
stay in it a minute longer. There's the door!"

Dalton laughed a dry, crackling laugh. "You are a regular virago, are
you not, my dear woman?" he said. "Quite refreshing to hear your defense
of a woman on whom I have spent every shilling I had. Now, do not get
excited--cool down a bit, and we will talk it over--and while we are at
it, please make me a cup of tea. It is about my hour. When my wife comes
to her senses, as she will in a minute, she will get over her tantrums
and think better of it."

Martha strode straight toward him until her capacious body was within a
few inches of his shirt-front, her hands tightly clinched. "Don't make
any mistake, Mr. Dalton. Your airs won't go here. My brother Stephen
looks after me and after Lady O'Day, and he and another man you wouldn't
care to meet are looking after you."

She called to her mistress: "Lock and bolt that door on you, and don't
open it until I tell you."

Again she confronted Dalton, her