As soon as she had finished the recital of her troubles with that dreadful man, she went on to remark, in the most offhand way, that Will Deverill, presuming on his altered fortunes, had taken new and larger rooms in a street in St James’s. They were beautiful rooms—oh yes, of course—and Herr Florian had furnished them, _ach, so schön, so schön_, was never anything like it. She saw Herr Florian often now; yes, he was always so kind, and sent her flowers weekly—such lovely flowers. Herr Will had heard that Linnet was coming back; and he was hoping to see her. He would be round there that very night, he had told her so himself just half-an-hour ago in Regent Street. At those words, Andreas rose, without warning of any sort, and touched the electric bell. The servant entered. “You remember Mr Deverill?” he said to the girl; “the tall, fair gentleman, with the light moustache, who called often last summer?” “Oh yes, sir, I mind him well,” the girl answered, promptly “him as brought the bokay for Mrs Hausberger the morning you was going away to the Continent last October.” It was an awkward reminiscence, though she didn’t intend it so. Andreas frowned still more angrily than before at the suggestion. “That’s the man!” he cried, savagely. “Now, Ellen, if he calls to-night and asks for your mistress, say she isn’t at home, and won’t be at home in future to Mr Deverill.” His voice was cold and stern. Linnet started from her chair. Her face flushed crimson. That Andreas should so shame her before Philippina and her own servant—it was hateful, it was intolerable! She turned to the girl with a tinge of unwonted imperiousness in her tone. “Say nothing of the sort, Ellen,” she cried, in a very firm voice, standing forth and confronting her. “If Mr Deverill comes, show him up to the drawing-room.” Andreas stood still and glared at her. He said never a word, but he clenched his fists hard, and pressed his teeth together. The girl looked from one to the other in feeble indecision, and then began to whimper. “Which of you am I to take my orders from?” she burst out, with a little sob. “From you, or my mistress?” “From me!” Linnet answered, in a very settled voice. “This house is mine, and you are _my_ servant. I earn the money that keeps it all going. Mr Hausberger has no right to dictate to me here whom I may see or not in my own drawing-room.”