"No, ma'am? I've not noticed it. We have not seen much of him up here; he has been at his club a good deal--and dined three or four times with old Major Pratt." "As if she would notice it!--servants never notice anything!" thought Eliza Hamlyn in her imperious way of judging the world. "By the way, Penelope," she said aloud in light and careless tones, "has that woman with the yellow hair been seen about much?--has she presumed again to accost my little son?" "The woman with the yellow hair?" repeated Penelope, looking at her mistress, for the girl had quite forgotten the episode. "Oh, I remember--she that stood outside there and came to us in the square-garden. No, ma'am, I've seen nothing at all of her since that day." "For there are wicked people who prowl about to kidnap children," continued Mrs. Hamlyn, as if she would condescend to explain her inquiry, "and that woman looked like one. Never suffer her to approach my darling again. Mind that, Penelope." The jealous heart is not easily reassured. And Mrs. Hamlyn, restless and suspicious, put the same question to her husband. It was whilst they were waiting in the drawing-room for dinner to be announced, and she had come down from changing her apparel after her journey. How handsome she looked! a right regal woman! as she stood there arrayed in dark blue velvet, the firelight playing upon her proud face, and upon the diamond earrings and brooch she wore. "Philip, has that woman been prowling about here again?" Just for an imperceptible second, for thought is quick, it occurred to Philip Hamlyn to temporize, to affect ignorance, and say, What woman? just as if his mind was not full of the woman, and of nothing else. But he abandoned it as useless. "I have not seen her since; not at all," he answered: and though his words were purposely indifferent, his wife, knowing all his tones and ways by heart, was not deceived. "He is afraid of that woman," she whispered to herself; "or else afraid of _me_." But she said no more. "Have you come to any definite understanding with Mr. Carradyne in regard to Peacock's Range, Eliza?" "He will not come to any; he is civilly obstinate over it. Laughs in my face with the most perfect impudence, and tells me: 'A man must be allowed to put in his own claim to his own house, when he wants to do so.'" "Well, Eliza, that seems to be only right and fair. Peveril made no positive agreement with us, remember." "_Is_ it right and fair? That may be your opinion, Philip, but it is not mine. We shall see, Mr. Harry Carradyne!" "Dinner is served, ma'am," announced the old butler. That evening passed. Sunday passed, the last day of the dying year; and Monday morning, New Year's Day, dawned. New Year's Day. Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn were seated at the breakfast-table. It was a bright, cold, sunny morning, showing plenty of blue sky. Young Master Walter, in consideration of the day, was breakfasting at their table, seated in his high chair.