"I shall send you to a house of mine you have never heard of," said Penelope. "And I expect you, Bunting, not to write to any one from there. I do not wish any one to know I live there." "I’ll not tell the Harchbishop of Canterbury ’imself, my lady, not if he begged me on his knees, with lighted candles in his ’and," said Bunting. "And, above all, my lady, I’ll not tell it to Miss Weekes. Her and me ’ave quarrelled, and ’ave parted for hever. And I wouldn’t trust her, my lady, not farther than you can sling a bull by the tail, my lady. I’ve trusted her to my rueing, so I have, and if she finds out hanything she’ll sell it to the _Times_, which ’ave promised her a public ’ouse at a corner." This revelation of the methods of Printing House Square shocked Penelope dreadfully. "Oh, I always thought the _Times_ was a respectable journal," she said. But Timothy Bunting shook his head. "Their sportin’ tips ain’t a patch on many of the penny papers, my lady. But don’t you forget what I says of Miss Weekes. She’s a serpent in your boodore a-coiling everywhere, and speaking to newspaper men outside the harea like an ’ousemaid. Not but that I knows an ’ousemaid far above such dirty work, my lady." A little encouragement might have led him to say more about the housemaid who would not condescend to talk with journalists. But Penelope gave him an address, verbally. "You will go to this place to-morrow," she said. "There are no horses now, but there will be next week. I trust you to do what I tell you." "Miss—my lady, I mean," said Timothy, proudly, "I wouldn’t reveal where I was if the Hemperor of Germany crawled to me for that purpose all along of the ground, making speeches as he went." Penelope smiled at her faithful henchman kindly, and she wondered how it happened that he thought of placing the emperor in such an absurd position; a position, too, which was very unlikely. "Now are you sure you remember, Bunting?" she asked. "Miss Mackarness, Moat ’Ouse, near Spilsby, Lincolnshire," repeated Timothy. "And you will speak personally to Miss Mackarness, who will give you every instruction," said his young mistress. "I hope you don’t drink, Bunting?" "Never," said Bunting, promptly, "at least I won’t from now on till you give the word, my lady. But, my lady, as I’m goin’ from here I don’t mind revealin’ to you that Mr. Gubbles does. Mr. Gubbles ’as been very unkind to me, and—" "That will do," said Penelope. "Good-bye, Bunting. I expect to see you in about a month. It may be less." "I ’opes, my lady, it will be much less," said the groom, and as he went away he nodded his close-cropped head.