"Nonsense," said a brisk voice in the stairway, and Miss Gastonguay came bustling up. "Good gracious, Chelda, I thought you were still out,--and you too, Mr. Huntington." "I could not tear myself away," he said, his face illumined by a reminiscent afterglow. "I am glad you couldn't. Did you and Chelda have your drive?" "Yes, aunt," said the young lady. "Then you came up here for cake and wine," said Miss Gastonguay, glancing at a bottle in a filigree case, and a silver cake basket on a tiny table. "You might offer Mrs. Mercer some. I don't believe she finished her tea." "May I?" said Chelda, gracefully. "No, thank you," and Derrice shook her light head. "That whale of a woman drove her up-stairs," said Miss Gastonguay. "What do you think Mrs. Jonah wants now, Chelda?" "I could never guess, aunt." "To give a charity ball, to relieve the distress of the mill hands burnt out at Indian Gardens. 'Why don't you put your hand in your pocket, and pull out a donation?' I asked. 'What do you pretend to be giving to them for, when all you care for is to get up a midnight frolic for a lot of old married women who want to frisk about with young men, in gowns they ought to be ashamed of? They ought to be home taking care of their children. Go away with you; I have nothing for you. What I have for the mill hands I'll send direct.'" "You must have annoyed her, aunt." "I did; she went away in a temper." "It is a pity, aunt. Mrs. Jonah is the only one of the set we have not quarrelled with this year," said Chelda, with, however, but a very faint regret in her tone. "She was delicious," said Miss Gastonguay, laughing. "She said, 'Jane Gastonguay, you had better put on your peaked cap, take your tomahawk, and point for the woods.' Now wasn't that a delicate reminder of our ancestry, Mr. Huntington?" "Very delicate, considering its source." Derrice got up. "Good-bye, Miss Gastonguay, and thank you for a very pleasant afternoon." "Tut, tut," and her hostess refused to take the offered hand. "You needn't try to make me think you are anxious to get back to Hippolyta Prymmer. Dinner will be ready in an hour. You'll stay, too, Mr. Huntington?" The clergyman did not reply. Like one mesmerised he turned to Chelda. A subdued pleasure lighted up her face, and, murmuring, "Of course he will," she followed her aunt and Derrice down the staircase. CHAPTER IX. TELL ME YOUR SECRETS. At eleven o'clock Miss Gastonguay's brougham stopped before the Mercer house, and the coachman, pulling up his horses, looked over his shoulder, to see whether Derrice was opening the door. She was, having been told by Miss Gastonguay that, while a coachman was a necessary evil, a footman was a blot on modern civilisation. The man watched the girlish figure hurrying up the steps, waited until he heard the door open, then, with a disapproving smile at the dull, dark house, drove quickly away.