Another steep ascent brought them into the village; they stopped in front of a low, old-fashioned house. “This is the Grange, zurr,” said the coachman; and Colonel Dacre jumped out gladly. Then he rang the bell, and as he heard it echo through the silent house, a sudden nervous fear seized him lest he should have done ill in coming. Lady Gwendolyn was so peculiar that the thing which would have helped him with another woman might ruin him with her. Nobody answered his first summons, nor his second; but when he rang a third time he heard a step along the hall, and the door opened at last--slowly and reluctantly. A respectable-looking middle-aged woman presented herself, and evidently regarded Colonel Dacre with great disfavor. “What may you be pleased to want?” she asked, with cold civility. “I want to see Lady Gwendolyn St. Maur.” “She isn’t at home,” replied the woman, and she was about to shut the door again in his face. But he was prepared for this movement, and had inserted his knee in the aperture, that he might have time for parley. “I suppose she is staying at Turoy? Lady Teignmouth gave me this address.” But even the countess’ name and authority could not soften the woman, who seemed to take her post as door-keeper much too strictly, unless she had received stringent orders. “Whether she is or she isn’t staying at Turoy, she isn’t in this house now,” was the reply, spoken with great determination. “Perhaps she has gone out for a walk?” the colonel observed, trying an indirect question. “Perhaps she has.” “In that case, I think I had better call again later, don’t you?” “Just as you like; it’s no affair of mine.” Colonel Dacre’s temper was naturally good, but it began to fail him a little now. “I should have fancied you were left in the house on purpose to give information,” he said. “Anyhow, you might as well give a civil answer to a civil question. I am sure Lady Gwendolyn would not consider that you served her interests by being rude to her visitors.” “Her ladyship knows too well about me for anything people might say to trouble her,” answered the woman quietly. “I do my duty, so far as I know how; and I can’t help the rest. If her ladyship came down here it is because she wants rest and quiet; but, of course, if she told me to let in a whole regiment I should obey her.” “Then she has told you not to admit any one?” “I never said so, sir.” “At any rate, I shall return in a couple of hours,” responded Colonel Dacre, irritated almost beyond endurance, and he turned on his heel and marched briskly away. He looked back when he reached the gate, and caught just one glimpse of a graceful dark head at one of the windows; but it was withdrawn before he had time to identify it. And he went on his way, wondering if Lady Gwendolyn was as false as her sister-in-law, or if she was one of those women who love to torture those in their power.