I did not speak; I was thinking. No doubt it was all true. "Poor thing! the blow was enough to turn her brain," observed Mrs. Penn, musingly. "But I fancy she could never have been of strong intellect. A light, frivolous, butterfly girl, her only recommendation her beauty and soft manner." "What you told me before was, that she had used Mr. Chandos ill." "And so she did; very. But that was altogether a different matter, quite unconnected with what followed." "How did you become acquainted with these things, Mrs. Penn?" "In a perfectly legitimate manner. Believe me, Anne, this house is no proper home for you; Harry Chandos is an unfit companion. Quit both to-morrow." The pertinacity vexed me nearly beyond bearing. "I'll think of it," I said, sharply; and getting up quickly made my escape from the room and the east wing. Not any too soon. To go to the east wing was against the law, and as I turned into my own room, Mrs. Chandos was coming down the gallery, Mr. Chandos by her side. "When will you get it for me, Harry?" she was saying as they passed my door. "Shortly, I hope. The booksellers here may have to send to London for it, but I'll see that you have it as soon as possible." He held open the door of the east wing for her to enter, and then took his way downstairs. I followed presently. Tea would be waiting and I expected to preside at it. How could I absent myself from the routine of the house and the oak-parlour—I, who was but there on sufferance, an interloper? Were the circumstances that had passed such as that I—a lady born, and reared to goodness and modesty and all right instincts—ought to make a commotion over? No. And I felt as if I could bite my tongue to pieces for having said what I did to Mr. Chandos just now. Henceforth, I would hold on my course in calm self-respect; meeting him civilly, forgetting and believing that he forgot anything undesirable that had passed. As to the "crime" spoken of by Mrs. Penn—well, I thought it _could not be_: crime of any sort seemed so entirely incompatible with Mr. Chandos. And my love? Oh, don't make me speak of it. I could only resolve to beat it down, down, whenever it rose in my heart. Others had suffered, so must I. He did not appear at tea. I drank mine with what relish I might, and Joseph came for the things. Ah, what passion is like unto love! None can control it. I had resolved to put it away from me and that whole evening it was uppermost! Fifty times I caught myself yearning for his presence, and saying to myself unbidden that life was a blank without him. Very shortly after taking away the tea-tray, Joseph came in again. "I am going to close the shutters, Miss." "Very well. Who ordered it to be done?" "The master."