"All right, miss," said Mr. Effingham, taking off his hat, and making a bow as near as possible after the manner of walking-gentlemen on the stage--a proceeding with which the limpness of the wideawake's brim interfered considerably; "my name's Effingham." "Indeed! what a pretty name! so romantic. You would not mind my sitting down, would you? No; that's all right. And now, Mr. Effingham, I suppose you want something of me, don't you, after that mysterious communication which you made to me yesterday when I was walking with my pupil? Poor child! she's been in a state of wonderment ever since; and I've had to invent such stories about you. And what is it you want, Mr. Effingham?" Mr. Effingham scarcely liked the tone; he felt he was being "chaffed;" so he thought he would bring matters to a crisis by saying, "My name's not Effingham--at least, not more than yours is Gillespie." "Oh, I perceive," said she with a little nod. "My name's Butler as much as yours is Ponsford. Now d'ye see?" "O yes; now I see perfectly. Butler, eh? Any relation of a man named Tony Butler who is now dead?" "Yes--his brother. He may have spoken to you of a brother in America." "In America! ay, ay. Well, Mr. Butler," she continued with a bright smile, "now I know that you're the brother of Tony Butler, there's scarcely any need of repeating my question whether you wanted anything; for--pardon me--you could hardly belong to that interesting family without wanting something. The question is, what do you want? Money? and if so, how much?" "No; I don't want money--" "That's very unlike Tony Butler. I shall begin to discredit your statements," said she, still with the pleasant smile. "At least not yet, nor from you. But I do want something." "Ye-es, and that is--" "I want you to go away from here with me at once." "To go away from here! O no. _Connu_, my dear Mr. Butler; I see the whole of the play. This is not your own business at all, dear sir. You dance, and kick your legs and swing your arms very well; but you are a puppet, and the gentleman who pulls the strings lives over yonder;" and she pointed with her umbrella to Redmoor House. "I can't make out what you mean." "O yes, you can. 'A master I have, and I am his man.' You are Sir Charles Mitford's man, Mr. Butler; and he has set you on to tell me that I must leave this place and rid him of my influence. Now, you may go back to Sir Charles Mitford, your master, and tell him that I set him utterly at defiance; that I won't move, and that he can't make me. Do you hear that, my dear Mr. Butler?" She had risen from her seat, and stood erect before him, looking very grand and savage. Her companion knew that the success of his scheme depended wholly upon the manner in which he carried out the next move, and accordingly he threw all his power into the acting of it.