"Nothing can be cold where you are, miss," said Jeremiah, gallantly. "I'll come up with you. Why do you wear those rubbishing flowers? You can pick 'em up in the fields." "They are from an old friend," said Phoebe, loyally. "I value them quite as much as if they had cost--" She stopped, frightened at her rashness; she was about to add, "eight and six." Jeremiah completed the sentence for her, supplying the precise words in her mind. "As if they cost eight and six, miss," he said, quietly. There was a venom in his voice which made her shudder. "I'll think of that." She felt it necessary to mollify him, and though she hated herself for her duplicity, she was very gracious to him as they ascended the stairs, so that when they entered the room his equanimity was restored. It may have been the grandeur of his appearance, or perhaps it was something in Phoebe's face, that caused an awkward pause in the merriment upon their entrance. Fortunately for the situation, Mrs. Pamflett was in the room, and as Phoebe made no attempt to introduce Jeremiah to the company, Mrs. Pamflett said, in a distinct, measured voice, "My son, Mr. Pamflett, Mr. Farebrother's manager." Mr. Lethbridge rose and offered the young man his hand. "Glad to know you," said Jeremiah. "You're Mr. Lethbridge. How do you do, all of you?" Mrs. Lethbridge inclined her head, perceiving that something was wrong. Fanny with difficulty repressed a giggle, Bob looked supercilious, while Fred Cornwall scarcely glanced at the new arrival. "Will you give Mr. Pamflett a cup of tea, aunt?" said Phoebe. "No," said Jeremiah, "not from your aunt, if you please; from you. Then I sha'n't want any sugar in it. Anything the matter with you, miss?" He addressed this question to Fanny, from whom an uncertain sound of laughter was proceeding. "Something in my throat," replied Miss Fanny. "Shall I slap you on the back, miss?" "No, no!" cried Fanny, suddenly quite sobered. Jeremiah drank his tea quite slowly, looking alternately from one to the other. There was a dead silence in the room. "Shall my niece pour you out another cup?" asked Mrs. Lethbridge, politely. "If it will oblige her," said Jeremiah, with cold malignity, "she may." Without a word Phoebe poured out the tea and handed it to him. He drank it even more slowly than he had done the first cup. When it was finished, Mrs. Lethbridge said, "There is no more in the pot." "That is a pity," said Jeremiah, "because we are enjoying ourselves so." "I propose," said Mrs. Lethbridge, "that we go into the open air. It is a most lovely evening." They all rose, glad of the escape. Jeremiah pushed himself between Fred Cornwall and Phoebe, and walked by her side down the stairs. When they were in the open he said to her, "You have forgotten your bouquet. I will go and bring it to you. Shall I?" "If you please," she answered, faintly. She could make no other reply.