Mrs. Methuen took Edmund by the arm, asking confidentially: "Now what mischief had you been up to when I came in? What did you expect the people to complain about? Don’t tell me if you’d rather not, but I know a good deal about boys, and I might be able to help." "It wasn’t us," Edmund answered quite seriously. "It was Guardie. He was afraid of them grumbling. Our one had complained already." "Mr. Wycherly!" Mrs. Methuen repeated in astonishment. "Oh, nonsense! I’m perfectly sure he would never do anything anyone could complain of." "Not willingly," said Montagu, who began to think it was time he took a small part in the conversation, "but, you see, people in this town seem rather huffy about curtains and blinds and things, and we’ve always lived in the country, where no one could see in, so we never thought of it. We were so proud of having the electric light too, but now it seems we’d have been better with just candles, for then, perhaps, Miss Selina Brooks wouldn’t have written to complain. We’d best go to bed in the dark to-night." "But do you mean to tell me someone wrote to complain that they could see you?" "Yes, she did," cried Edmund. "’Paforming our ablutions’ and ’it was very depressing,’ and Guardie thinks the lady in the house opposite him will be writing next—you see, there’s two houses opposite us; we’re kind of between them, and one can see right into our room and the other right into his; but his bed’s in a deep recess, so perhaps he wasn’t quite so depressing." Mrs. Methuen stood still in the middle of the road, seemingly not quite sure whether to laugh or to cry. Finally she laughed, but her voice was not very steady as she said: "Oh, poor dear Mr. Wycherly; how dreadful!" "Oh, do you think," cried Montagu, "that you could tell us where we could buy blinds or something now, to-night? Such things do worry him so, and then he blames himself and remembers Aunt Esperance is away, and it feels so sad somehow. You see she always did everything like that." "But that’s the very sort of thing I can help in," cried this kind and understanding young lady, and this time she took Montagu’s arm, so that they all three were linked confidingly together. "Did you bring no curtains from Scotland?" "I don’t know what we brought. There’s boxes and boxes not unpacked yet. Perhaps it will be better when the servant comes, but you never saw such a muddle as there is just now," groaned Montagu. "But why isn’t your servant there to help you? It seems to me that just now is the time when she could be of the very greatest use." "She was coming," Edmund said gloomily, "but her miserable mother went and got ill, and now she won’t come at all, and there’s only Mrs. Griffin. Do you know Mrs. Griffin?" "I do not," Mrs. Methuen replied decidedly, "and from what I saw of her when she let me in, I don’t desire her further acquaintance. How did you get her?"