Aunt Amelia sunk back with a gesture of disgusted disappointment, and Mr. Sparrow coughed. “I--er--have reason to believe that the manservant was asked a question or two----” “By you, Mr. Sparrow?” said Olivia, still with the expression of an innocent child. The little man blushed. “Well, not exactly; but my man Walker happened to meet Mr. Faradeane’s man, and got into conversation.” “And what did he say?” demanded Miss Amelia, eagerly. “Well, I regret to say that he told poor Walker to mind his own business.” Olivia had only time to turn to the piano to hide the smile which seemed to flash across her face and dance in her eyes like a ray of sunshine. “Well, I really never----Of course, no one will think of calling upon him,” said Miss Amelia. Again Mr. Sparrow colored guiltily. “I--er--thought it my duty as a neighbor,” he said, hesitatingly, “to just call. It was yesterday. The dog”--he shuddered, and screwed up his slender legs, as if at some painful recollection--“the dog is one of the largest and--most awful animals, and I am convinced if the servant hadn’t come up at the moment, I----” He shuddered again. “He said his master was out. I saw Mr. Faradeane walking in the orchard at the side of the cottage quite distinctly.” “Then he was out,” said Olivia, gravely. “My dear Olivia,” exclaimed her aunt, “you seem to be quite anxious to make excuses for this extraordinary young man; you do, indeed!” “Well, it can’t be denied that he was out of the house,” said Olivia, as gravely as before. “We usually look over the stairs and whisper to the servants to say that we are not at home. For the future I shall imitate Mr.--what-is-his-name’s veracity, and go out into the garden.” “The man added that his master never saw visitors,” said Mr. Sparrow, solemnly. There was something so irresistibly ludicrous in the little old man’s tone that Olivia’s gravity broke down, and she burst into a peal of laughter. While it was ringing through the room, and the other two were staring at her in startled astonishment and indignation, two gentlemen entered. One--an elderly man, tall and thin, with gray hair and eyes that had a look of Olivia’s in them--was her father, Mr. Vanley. The other was a young man in flannels--a young man who would have been good looking but for a remarkably faulty mouth and an expression in his eyes which seemed to convey the idea to the spectator that their owner was always on the alert listening and watching, and yet endeavoring to conceal the fact. As Olivia looked up and met the eyes fixed upon her with a sudden, eager curiosity, then turned aside with as sudden an attempt at indifference, the laughter died away abruptly and a sudden change came over her expressive face. It was as if she had hardened it. A moment ago it had been full of girlish mirth and abandon; now in an instant it was eloquent of reserve and almost hauteur.