She ran on upstairs. Lettice in Miss Deveen's house. It was worse than a Chinese puzzle. "Is that you, Johnny? Step in here?" The voice--Miss Deveen's--came from a half-opened door, close at hand. It was a small, pretty sitting-room, with light blue curtains and chairs. Miss Deveen sat by the fire, ready for dinner. In her white body shone amethyst studs, quite as beautiful as the lost emeralds. "We call this the blue-room, Johnny. It is my own exclusively, and no one enters it except upon invitation. Sit down. Were you surprised to see Lettice Lane?" "I don't think I was ever so much surprised in all my life. She says she is living here." "Yes; I sent for her to help my housemaid." I was thoroughly mystified. Miss Deveen put down her book and spectacles. "I have taken to glasses, Johnny." "But I thought you saw so well." "So I do, for anything but very small type--and that book seems to have been printed for none but the youngest eyes. And I see people as well as things," she added significantly. I felt sure of that. "Do you remember, Johnny, the day after the uproar at Whitney Hall, that I asked you to pilot me to Lettice Lane's mother's, and to say nothing about it?" "Yes, certainly. You walked the whole four miles of the way. It is five by road." "And back again. I am good for more yet than some of the young folk are, Johnny; but I always was an excellent walker. Next day the party broke up; that pretty girl, Sophie Chalk, departed for London, and you and young Todhetley left later. When you reached your home in the evening, I don't suppose you thought I had been to Dyke Manor the same day." "No! Had you really, Miss Deveen?"