Yes, the chauffeur was in the hall, cap in hand, attended by the grateful Joss, and had overheard the foregoing conversation. Miss Parrett came forth as she concluded her speech, and issued her commands. “Owen, you are to help my sister and Miss Morven in settling the drawing-room. Be careful how you handle things, and don’t break anything; and you may have your dinner here for to-day, with the other servants.” “Very good, ma’am,” he assented. But with respect to dinner with the servants, it was really very _bad_. He would be compelled to fence with the London cook, and keep her and her civil proposals at arm’s length--no easy job! From ten o’clock till half-past one, Wynyard spent an agreeable and busy time in the service of Miss Susan and her niece. His boast to his sister that he was “clever with his hands” was fully justified. He hung the chintz and white curtains with the skill of an upholsterer, he laid the dark blue felt on the floor, stretched it and nailed it neatly in its place, whilst Aurea stood by, and gave directions, and sometimes--such was her zeal--went down on her knees beside him, and pulled and dragged too, exertions which enabled her associate to realise the perfect curve of cheek and neck, and the faint perfume of her glorious hair! And all this time industrious Miss Susan sewed on rings, fitted loose chintz covers, and talked incessantly. She did not appear to find the presence of the chauffeur the slightest restraint--indeed, he was so quiet and kept his personality so steadily in the background, that as aunt and niece chatted and conferred, measured and altered, they seemed to have entirely forgotten his existence, and as the old drawing-room was full of nooks, angles, and deep windows, he was not only out of mind, but also out of sight. Meanwhile, he enjoyed the rôle of audience, especially in listening to Miss Aurea! What a gay, light-hearted girl! And in her playful arguments with her aunt, he realised the delightful camaraderie that existed between them. Her chaff was so amusing that, although he was not included in the conversation, he often felt inclined to echo Miss Susan’s appreciative laugh. Never had he come across any one who had attracted him so much; the more he saw of Miss Morven the more he admired her! Possibly this was because for the last twelve months he had not been brought in contact with a happy, high-spirited English girl--or was it because in this out-of-the-world village he had met his fate? As Wynyard hung curtains, and put in screws, he stole swift glances at Miss Susan’s busy helper, noticed her slim elegance, her infectious smile, and lovely face. It was a ridiculous, but absolutely true fact, that to see a really beautiful, charming, and unaffected girl, one must come to Ottinge-in-the-Marsh!