He held out the silver case, and she was about to pick out the cigarettes, then looked up at him exasperatingly, and put the case in her pocket. “Perhaps I’ll give it back to you to-morrow, perhaps I won’t. Good-night,” and with a nod she motioned him to go on. She stood looking after him for a few minutes, puffing at the cigarette, and thinking with half-closed eyes, very much like a lithe, graceful cat. “I wonder what your little game is down here, Master Bartley,” she muttered. “No good, I’ll bet. You never did anything but mischief wherever you went. Well, it doesn’t matter to me. So long as you keep up my allowance and yourself quiet you may do what you please.” Then she pinned her shawl round her, and, walking quickly out of the wood, went down the lane, and stepped in front of The Dell. “This ought to be the place,” she said. “Yes, it’s like him to choose a place like this. I should die of the doldrums in a week. But he----” She stopped a moment or two, standing before the gate as if she were collecting her courage or her mind, then put her hand on the gate. “Locked!” she said, with a smile. “I don’t think that will keep me out!” and, resting her strong hand on the side post, she sprang over the low gate as easily as a boy of fifteen could have done. As she did so, the dog came bounding down the path with a threatening growl. She drew herself together, tightening every muscle, just as she did before one of her dangerous feats on the trapeze, and waited for him, her teeth set, her fist closed. The dog came up to her, and sniffed at her, then wagged his tail. She laughed softly. “You’re a fraud, my friend,” she said, stooping down and patting him; then suddenly she gave him a kick, exclaiming: “I’ll make you afraid of me before many hours are passed, bow-wow!” The dog retreated with a yell, and she walked up to the door and knocked. The servant, in his gamekeeper suit, opened it. “Is Mr. Faradeane at home?” she asked. The man held a small lamp above his head, and surveyed her, then looked beyond her at the gate with not unreasonable surprise. “No, he isn’t,” he said. “What do you want?” “I want to see him,” she returned, firmly. “My master is not at home,” he said. “What name shall I say, ma’am?” She thought a moment, her dark eyes flashing past him into the small hall. “It’s of no consequence, my name; if he’s at home”--and she raised her voice--“he’d see me, I know.” “But he is not at home,” said the man, in a matter-of-fact voice. “I’ll come in and wait, then,” she said, and she made a forward movement. He quickly filled up the doorway. “You can’t do that,” he said. “Why, what are you afraid of, you and your master?” she demanded, scornfully, a spot of red burning on each cheek. “Do you think I want to steal something?”