“Only once or twice, miss, when my hand was sore. His people are poor, and a shilling doesn’t come amiss.” “I feel certain,” clearing her throat, “that you are not accustomed to this sort of life, Owen.” As she spoke, she kept her clear blue eyes on his face, and looked at him with the direct simplicity of a child. “I am interested in you, Owen. Do tell me about yourself, you know I wish you well.” “Miss Susan,” and he straightened his shoulders and set down the pot he was holding, “you received my reference from Lady Kesters--and I believe it was all right?” Miss Susan became very red indeed, and the garden scissors slipped from her thumb. There was something unusual in the young man’s tone and glance. “If you or Miss Parrett find that I am not giving satisfaction----” “Oh no, no, no!” she broke in breathlessly, “I--I’m afraid I’m rather inquisitive--but I take a real interest in you, and you have been _such_ a help to me--and I feel so friendly towards you--but, I won’t ask you any more questions.” This little scene was subsequently related to Aurea, as she and her aunt drank tea together at the Rectory, and Miss Susan imparted to the girl--between bites of buttered toast--her own eager speculations. Mystery has a wonderful charm! A handsome young man, who was both reserved and obliging, who, it was known, was respected in the Drum, and kept to himself, and whom she believes to be one of her own class--offers a dangerous attraction for a girl of twenty! Aurea debated the puzzle in the abysmal depth of her own heart, and when a girl once allows her thoughts to dwell persistently upon a man--no matter what his station--her interest in him is bound to develop far beyond the bounds of everyday acquaintance! Aurea was startled to discover that her mind was dwelling on the chauffeur more than was desirable; he occupied too large a share of her thoughts, though she did her utmost to expel him, and fill them with other matters--such, for instance, as the parish almshouses, the clothing club, and the choir--but a taciturn, mysterious young man, figuratively, thrust himself head and shoulders above these commonplace matters. Owen had a good voice, and had been impressed into the choir--a rollicking hunting song, sung at the Drum, had betrayed him. It was customary there, on certain nights, to sit round in a circle and call upon the members for entertainment, and Owen’s “John Peel” had established his reputation.