"Perhaps I'd better wait for a day or two," said I, wavering. "Your headache, you know. I can wait just as well as--" "Oh, no. Since you've gone to all the trouble I suppose you ought to have something for your pains." "Pains?" I murmured, and I declare to heaven I limped as I followed her through the door into a tiny hall. "You are a most unreasonable man," she said, throwing open a small door at the end of the hall. "I am terribly disappointed in you. You looked to be so nice and sensible and amiable." "Oh, I'm not such a nincompoop as you might suspect, madam," said I, testily, far from complimented. I dislike being called nice, and sometimes I think it a mistake to be sensible. A sensible person never gets anything out of life because he has to avoid so much of it. "And now, Mr. Smart, will you be kind enough to explain this incomprehensible proceeding on your part?" she said, facing me sternly. But I was dumb. I stood just inside the door of the most remarkable apartment it has ever been my good fortune to look upon. My senses reeled. Was I awake? Was this a part of the bleak, sinister, weather-racked castle in which I was striving so hard to find a comfortable corner? "Well?" she demanded relentlessly. "By the Lord Harry," I began, finding my tongue only to lose it again. My bewilderment increased, and for an excellent reason. The room was completely furnished, bedecked and rendered habitable by an hundred and one articles that were mysteriously missing from my side of the castle. Rugs, tapestries, curtains of the rarest quality; chairs, couches, and cushions; tables, cabinets and chests that would have caused the eyes of the most conservative collector of antiques to bulge with--not wonder--but greed; stands, pedestals, brasses, bronzes, porcelains--but why enumerate? On the massive oaken centre table stood the priceless silver vase we had missed on the second day of our occupancy, and it was filled with fresh yellow roses. I sniffed. Their fragrance filled the room. And so complete had been the rifling of my rooms by the devoted vandals in their efforts to make this lady cosy and comfortable that they did not overlook a silver-framed photograph of my dear mother! Her sweet face met my gaze as it swept the mantel-piece, beneath which a coal fire crackled merrily. I am not quite sure, but I think I repeated "by the Lord Harry" once if not twice before I caught myself up. I tried to smile. "How--how cosy you are here," I said. "You couldn't expect me to live in this awful place without some of the comforts and conveniences of life, Mr. Smart," she said defiantly. "Certainly not," I said, promptly. "I am sure that you will excuse me, however, if I gloat. I was afraid we had lost all these things. You've no idea how relieved I am to find them all safe and sound in my--in their proper place. I was beginning to distrust the Schmicks. Now I am convinced of their integrity." "I suppose you mean to be sarcastic."