Mrs. Rose was a person in whose mind few facts long remained in a definite shape. Accustomed to have all mental processes performed for her by her husband, she lived in a state of intellectual laziness, in which her faculties had begun to rust. Mr. Rose had complete confidence in Mrs. Haybrow, who was indeed a staid, solid sort of person who inspired trust. If, therefore, Mr. Rose trusted to Mrs. Haybrow’s judgment, and Mrs. Haybrow saw no objection to Mabin’s visit, surely there was no need to fatigue one’s self by hunting out obstacles to a very convenient arrangement. And so it fell out that, when Mrs. Haybrow’s visit was over, and the Roses started for Switzerland, Mabin saw them all off at the station, and then returned to “Stone House,” to pack up the few things she had left out which she would want during her stay at “The Towers.” She had reached the portico, and was going up the steps of her home with leisurely steps, rather melancholy at the partings which had been gone through, and with a few girlish fears about her visit, when the door of the house was opened suddenly before she could ring the bell, and the parlormaid, one of the two servants who, at the request of the new tenant, had been left behind, appeared, with her finger to her lips. Mabin stopped on the top step and looked at her with surprise. Langton came out, and spoke in a whisper: “Shall I pack up your things, and send them in to Mrs. Dale’s to-night, Miss Mabin? Mr. Banks has come, and he seems such a queer sort of gentleman, I don’t quite know how to take him yet. He came upon us quite sudden, almost as soon as the ’bus with the luggage had turned the corner, and asked sharp-like, if they were all gone. And I said ‘Yes,’ and he seemed relieved like, and so I didn’t dare to mention you were coming back to fetch your things.” Mabin stared gloomily at Langford, who was evidently anxious to get rid of her. “What’s the matter with him? Do you think it is Mr. Banks, and not some man who’s got into the house by pretending to be he?” “Lor’, Miss Mabin, I never thought of that!” cried poor Langford, turning quite white. She had evidently entertained faint suspicions of her own, for at this suggestion she was about to fly into the house in search of the new-comer, and perhaps to brand him as an impostor, when Mabin, smiling at her alarm, caught hold of her to detain her. “No, no, you silly girl. Of course it’s all right. It’s sure to be all right. He’s probably eccentric, that’s all. Doesn’t he look the kind of person you would expect?” “Oh, yes, Miss Mabin, he’s every inch a gentleman. But--” She hesitated, apparently unable to put into appropriate words the impression the new tenant had made upon her. “But what?” “He is rather--rather strange-looking. I--I think he looks as if he wouldn’t live long. His face has a sort of gray look, as if-- Well, Miss Mabin, it’s a queer thing to say, but he looks to me half-scared.”