“I’ll think of it,” answered Paul with a smile. “I owe you something for all the information you’ve given me.” “That’s all right. You seem a good sort of chap, and you’re welcome.” Amos drew up in front of the house, and reined in the horses; while Paul descended from the carriage. “How much is the fare?” asked Number 91. “Twenty cents.” “That’s near enough,” said Paul, handing him a quarter. “You’re a gentleman,” said Amos. “Now I’ll have a cigar when I get back to the hotel.” Paul walked up the path to the front door of the mansion and rang the bell. In about a minute the door opened, and he found himself confronting a tall, grim looking woman with thin face and figure, and iron gray hair. “Who are you, and what is your business?” she demanded in a chilly tone. Paul had no doubt in his own mind that it was the housekeeper. “My name is Paul Parton, from New York, and I have a letter for Mrs. Granville.” “You can give me the letter.” “Thank you, but I would prefer to give it to Mrs. Granville----” “Humph! Are you one of her relations?” “No, but I come from Mrs. Holbrook, her niece.” “Oh,” said the housekeeper, grimly. “Well, I don’t think you can see Mrs. Granville; she’s got a headache, and can’t be disturbed.” CHAPTER XXXI. A DEFEAT FOR THE HOUSEKEEPER. The housekeeper held the door half way open, and evidently meant to prevent Paul from entering. If he had been less determined, or more easily abashed, he would have given up his purpose. But Number 91 had a will of his own. “I don’t accept a dismissal from you, madam,” he said, eying Mrs. Mercer with a steady glance. “I demand to see Mrs. Granville.” “Hoity toity! Who are you, I’d like to know?” demanded the housekeeper, amazed and exasperated. “A visitor to Mrs. Granville,” answered Paul; “you, I suppose, are a servant.” “Do you dare to call me a servant, you impudent boy?” answered Mrs. Mercer, raising her voice. “What are you, then?” asked Paul, calmly. “I am Mrs. Mercer, the housekeeper, I’d have you to know.” “So I suppose, and Mrs. Granville is your employer. By what right do you dare to send away her visitors?” Mrs. Mercer was quite unused to being defied so boldly, and she could hardly express her indignation. “Well, I never heard of such impudence!” she ejaculated. In her anger she would have closed the door, but just at that moment a voice was heard from the floor above--the voice of Mrs. Granville, who had been attracted by the housekeeper’s loud tones. “What is all this, Mrs. Mercer?” she asked, in a tone of authority. “It’s a boy who wants to force his way in, ma’am,” said Mrs. Mercer, in a sulky tone. “What boy is it?” asked her mistress. Paul answered this question himself. “I come from New York with a letter from your niece, Mrs. Holbrook,” he said. “Then come in at once,” said the old lady, in an imperative tone. “Why did you not admit him at once?” “I didn’t know,” answered the housekeeper, confused.