“Yes, quite as anxious; and more anxious still that he should be seen by a doctor.” Mr. Bradfield’s face changed. The sullen frown which, whenever it appeared, made his dark face so very unprepossessing, came over it as he said shortly: “You presume too much.” And he turned on his heel abruptly, and went indoors. Chris felt quite glad she had offended him. From one point of view, as the master of the house where she and her mother lived so comfortably, she liked him very much. From any other she began to feel that she did not like him at all. She felt again the aversion with which he had inspired her on the day of her arrival, an aversion which his kindness had been gradually dispelling. Perhaps it was that he showed too decided an acquiescence in the fact that his ward’s mental malady was incurable. Or it may have been vexation at his exposing her to the danger of the madman’s anger, and at the daring familiarity with which he had put his arm round her shoulder in an alleged attempt to protect her. Or, possibly, her renewed dislike was only the result of that instinct by which women leap to conclusions without reasoning out the facts. It is at any rate certain that the girl felt at that moment considerably more fear of Mr. Bradfield than she did of the madman in the east wing. To be sure, the latter was shut up, and the former was not. She did not go indoors until she had quite recovered from the effects of the scene she had gone through; so that Mrs. Abercarne noted nothing unusual in her countenance or manner. It was after luncheon on the same day, that Chris, sitting with her embroidery in the corridor, which was warmed with hot-water pipes, and was her favourite retreat, was surprised to be addressed by Stelfox, who was carrying a couple of large books from one of the upstairs bookcases in the direction of the east wing. “You were not much frightened, I hope, this morning, miss, by Mr. Richard’s antics?” he asked, in his quiet, stolid manner. Chris had a liking for this man as unreasonable as her dislike of his master. She had seldom spoken to him; when he met her he had usually stood out of her way like an automaton, so that it was not upon discerning acquaintance that her predilection was founded. Still, it was a fact and she smiled as she assured him that if she was frightened she soon got over it. “But where were you?” she went on in some surprise. “Were you upstairs with Mr. Richard? No,” she continued, answering herself, as she remembered to have seen Stelfox coming in by the front gates as she ran out of the enclosure, “you had gone out into the town. How did you know, then, that I was frightened? Did Mr. Bradfield tell you?” Stelfox allowed his straight mouth to widen a little in what passed with him for a smile. “No, miss. Master never talks about Mr. Richard to anyone. I heard it from the young gentleman himself when I took him in his luncheon.” Chris looked at him in astonishment.