“My brother--the sailor,” she went on falteringly, her stiff hand still out, like the wooden arm of a signal, toward the chair in which he sat looking carelessly nonchalant. “He has come home from sea. His ship,” she seemed to see the suspicion deepen on Jethro’s open face as he glanced at the visitor’s rough hands and cheap suit, “was wrecked.” “The _Matador_--wrecked off the coast of West Africa. I was second officer. A Dutch vessel ran into us. Made off without offering to help. That’s like those cowardly Dutchmen. I was hanging on to a mast for ten hours. Everything I had in the world gone, of course.” The lies rolled glibly off his ready tongue. Pamela felt her cheeks flame as if hot irons had brushed them. She did not look up. Let these two settle her fate between themselves. Jethro took a wide stride into the room and put out his brown hand. “Glad to see you,” he said with simple heartiness. “Glad to see any of my mother’s people at Folly Corner.” After that they went on talking. She didn’t hear a word--only the amicable voices. That Edred was smoothly lying she felt sure; that Jethro was taking every word as solemnly as he took his Bible or the advice of his head man she felt equally sure. They were so simple, so true, these Sussex folk. They had taken her on trust. They would take him on trust too--this unscrupulous jail-bird, her lover, hero, the wrecker of her life. Why couldn’t she stand up and say: “We are both liars and impostors. He is no sailor; merely a shady city man who has just served his time for dishonesty”? He was talking cleverly of the sea, using nautical terms, fashioning his sentences tersely and rudely like a bluff sailor. What a clever, heartless villain he was--and how she loved him! Nettie came in to lay the cloth for dinner. Pamela got up and walked across the room mechanically, beckoning to the maid to follow. When they were outside in the sunny, narrow corridor she said--looking steadily into the girl’s unexpressive eyes: “That gentleman is my brother--Mr. Edred Crisp.” “The piker!--oh, miss, I ask your pardon.” “He is a sailor,” Pamela went on steadily, “and he was wrecked. He went through dreadful hardships. Everything he had was lost at sea. He was obliged to sell machines for a living. It was quite by accident that he happened to come here and find me.” “It was Providence sent him, miss.” “Yes, Providence--of course. And you will lay for one extra at dinner, and you will get the best room ready.” “To be sure I will, miss. Wrecked at sea! Whatever will Cook say when I tells her?” “And Nettie.” “Yes, miss. How pale you look, miss! It’s shook you, and no wonder.” “Here are the keys. Get out some little things for dessert. I’ve told you how to manage for dessert. And the best table linen--and everything of the best.” “To be sure, miss.”