Really, this woman’s insolence was past bearing! That, and the conversation I had overheard, which so plainly betrayed what use my arrival at St. Pucelle had been put to, made my cheeks flame with indignation, and I walked past her to the sitting-room with the air of a queen. I had expected to find Tessie and Ange there, engaged in needlework, but I was mistaken. Except for Cave Charteris, sitting in the window reading a French novel, the room was empty. I have already attempted to describe the terms on which I found myself with this gentleman, but they are not easy of portraiture. We were perfectly friendly and polite to one another, but he was already more intimate and confidential with the girls than with myself. The new acquaintanceship appeared to be terribly kept back by the remembrance of the old friendship, and the mutual fear we secretly entertained, lest a free intercourse might lead to some allusion to the past, deterred us from ever seeking the company of one another. Confidence was at an end between us, and ease had followed it. I liked him still—thought him very handsome—and wished him no evil, but there my interest ended. The advice which I had sought from Charlie Sandilands, and which could have been so much better accorded me by a man of thirty, I had never dreamed of asking at the hands of Cave Charteris. I should have left the room again now, not directly I perceived he was in it, but at the first reasonable opportunity, had he not deterred me by broaching the very subject that had set my face in a flame. ‘There appears to be a very animated conversation going on in the kitchen, Miss Marsh,’ he commenced. ‘Is anything wrong there?’ ‘Nothing worse than the tongue of Madame Marmoret, which is a continual scourge,’ I answered hotly. ‘The impertinence of that woman knows no bounds. How the Lovetts can endure it as they do, I can’t imagine; but for my own part I shall be compelled to make a formal complaint on the subject, if it is not put a stop to. I have not been accustomed to be insulted by servants, and I will not submit to it.’ ‘Has she dared to insult you?’ he asked quickly. Then I remembered the exact bearing of the affront I had overheard, and wished I had not mentioned it. Of all people in the world, I would not have told Mr. Charteris my money troubles. He might have offered to assist me out of them. ‘I overheard part of the conversation you have alluded to, and it was not complimentary to myself. Madame Marmoret hates me and says so openly, though I am not aware I have ever given her cause of offence. It is nothing to me what she thinks or does not think, but I will not suffer it to be bawled out of a kitchen window loud enough for the whole of St. Pucelle to hear.’ ‘I should think not, indeed! You should speak to Mr. Lovett about it. Hilda, are you happy here?’ I started. It was the first time he had called me by my Christian name since the moment he recognised me in the _salle à manger_.