"Come, come; dinner, dinner," said Barton, cutting short Mrs. Darrow's small beer chronicles. "Julia, take my arm. Gerald, Miss Marsh is waiting. Miss Crane, I am sure Major Dundas will be delighted." "Charmed," murmured the Major with all gravity. He could not but admire this tall and beautiful woman, and was impressed, as Dicky had been, by the music of her voice. Miriam, in a plain black silk dress, showing her beautiful neck and shoulders and her shapely arms, looked as regal as a queen. Her red hair twisted in smooth shining coils crowned her as with a diadem, and Hilda's girlish prettiness paled before her graver splendour. As for Mrs. Darrow, art had done its utmost, but it could not make her either fresh or young. When she looked at Miriam she seemed to be conscious of this, and her feelings may be left to the imagination, but she promised herself a full revenge before the evening was over. "Doesn't Miss Crane look charming to-night?" she whispered to her uncle. "Charming," assented that genial gentleman. "Like Semiramis or Cleopatra; and she doesn't owe anything to art either." Mrs. Darrow grew red beneath her rouge. "Oh, I dare say she has painted in her time!" "What do you mean?" asked Barton sharply. "Well, if you don't know, of course I don't," was Mrs. Darrow's ambiguous reply; and as the occasion was unpropitious, Barton did not press for an explanation. Still, he guessed that her remark had something more behind it, and the look he gave her in consequence caused Mrs. Darrow to devote herself exclusively to the soup for the next few minutes. In that glance of disapproval she saw the final disappearance of the cheque. "I hope you like Thorpe, Miss Crane," said the Major in his ponderous way. "Very much indeed. I like the quiet and peace." "Really! Have you then had so stormy a life?" "Oh no," Miriam laughed, and her merriment extracted a glare from Mrs. Darrow. "But I have lived a great deal in London, and the country is so restful after the roar of the city. Of course you prefer town?" "No indeed; I was cut out by nature I believe for a country squire. I'm fond of soldiering of course," added the Major quickly, "but when I retire it will be to a place like this. I am more of a country bumpkin than my uncle. He's always running up to town." "Is he?" murmured Miriam, thinking of Mrs. Perks and the hotel in Craven Street. "Why is that?" "Oh, I don't know; he hunts after books and that sort of thing. My uncle is quite a student, you know." Miriam did not think from what she knew of Mr. Barton that book hunting took up a very considerable portion of his time when in London; but evidently the simple Major believed the fiction in all good faith. But his next remark startled her. "His taste in books is so peculiar," resumed Dundas, "and rather morbid; he collects all books dealing with crime." Miss Crane paled, and hastily sipped her wine. "With crime?"