"Be off!" he cried unceremoniously. "Madam won't be having a glint of sleep this night!" and then as Madame Sampiero spoke, her speech sadly involved, "Ay, ay, I've no doubt that all this company and talking has made ye feel more alive, but we don't want you to be feeling dead to-morrow, Madam--eh, what? That wouldn't matter? It would indeed matter, to those who had your death on their consciences!" But already Berwick and Mrs. Rebell were in the corridor. "I hope I have not tired her?" he said ruefully. "No--no, indeed! You heard what she said? You made her feel alive--no wonder she looks forward to your coming! Oh! I hope you will be here often." Berwick looked at her oddly, almost doubtfully, for a moment. "I expect to be here a good deal this winter," he said slowly. But if he thought that the evening, so well begun, was to be concluded in the Blue drawing-room downstairs, he was disappointed. Barbara turned and made him an old-fashioned curtsey--such an obeisance as French and Italian girls are taught to make to those of rank, and to the aged,--and then in a moment she was gone, up the winding staircase, leaving Berwick strangely subjugated and charmed. He was turning slowly when there came the sound of shuffling feet. "Madam insists on your coming back just for a moment. Now don't go exciting of her or she'll never live to see you occupying that chair of little ease." "What chair?" asked Berwick lazily: he was fond of McKirdy with an old fondness dating from his earliest childhood. "The high seat, the gallows of fifty cubits set apart for the Prime Minister of this great country!" "I'm afraid Madam will have to wait a long time before she sees me there!" "Well, man, give her at least the chance of living to see that glorious day!" But Madame Sampiero had, as it turned out, very little to say, and nothing of an exciting nature. "Do I think Arabella will like her?" Berwick was rather taken aback and puzzled. He had not thought of his sister and Mrs. Rebell in conjunction, and the idea was not a particularly agreeable one. "Well, yes, why shouldn't she? They are absolutely unlike," a not unkindly smile came over his face. He added, "I am sure my uncle will be charmed with her," then bent forward to catch the faltering utterance, "Yes, I know Richard Rebell was a friend of his--but do I understand that you want Arabella to ask her to Fletchings?" There was a rather long pause--"Yes, yes, Arabella shall certainly call on Mrs. Rebell, and at once." * * * * *