Mr. Bradfield delivered this speech with his back to the fire and his hands clasped behind him. From time to time, as he spoke, he cast furtive glances at Chris, but he did not look once at the lady he was addressing. Mrs. Abercarne, however made up her mind to put up with his peculiarities, so she uttered a curious little sound, which passed by courtesy for a laugh of appreciation of his humour, and graciously expressed her own gratitude and her daughter’s for his kind reception of them. “My only fear is that you are spoiling us by treating us too well, sir,” she concluded. Again she rolled out the “sir” in the manner of a duchess conversing with a prince. Mr. Bradfield winced perceptibly. “You needn’t say ‘sir’ if you don’t like it,” said he, drily. “It doesn’t seem to agree with you. Glad you’re pleased. You can have this room to yourselves if you like; I don’t use it much. And anything you want let me know of it at once. You needn’t come to me,” he continued, quickly, “but just send word. I want you to be comfortable, very comfortable. Perkins will give you the keys and all that. And--and I hope you’ll be happy here.” Again he glanced at the girl as he walked rapidly to the door, nodded “good-night,” and went out. For a few moments after they were left alone together neither mother nor daughter uttered a single word. They glanced at the door as if determined not to commit further indiscretions by hazarding any comment on Mr. Bradfield, until he had had time to take himself to the remotest part of the house. At last, when each had well considered the countenance of the other, Mrs. Abercarne spoke. “A very kindly, hospitable man, and very forgiving, too; don’t you think so, my dear?” were her first words. Chris stared at her mother, and then at the door. Surely Mrs. Abercarne must have an idea that she could be overheard, or she would never perjure herself in this fashion. The elder lady went smoothly on, without appearing to notice her daughter’s hesitation in answering. “A little brusque, a little unpolished, perhaps, but a thoroughly honest fellow, without hypocrisy and without affectation. The sort of man one instinctively feels that one can trust.” And Mrs. Abercarne crossed the room to the fireside, and settled herself comfortably in an easy chair, with her feet on the fender-stool. Then Chris, perceiving that there was some occult meaning in all this, replied discreetly: “I am glad you think so well of him, mother. But I--I shouldn’t have thought he was the kind of man you would have taken such a fancy to.” “Ah, my dear, you girls always judge by the exterior,” exclaimed Mrs. Abercarne, as she took up her knitting, and began counting the stitches. “But I should have thought that at any rate Mr. Bradfield’s talk would have amused you.” “Why, so it did, mother.”