On hearing his puzzled “Ha, ha!” Nouna did indeed uncurl herself and look up at him; but it was with a timid and bewildered expression. He, however, seizing his opportunity, swooped down, passed his arms under her, and lifting her bodily from the floor, carried her over to the sofa, placed her upon it, and sat down beside her. “And now, little one, tell me what is the matter with you, and why and how you came here.” Instead of answering, she looked at him steadily, with a solemn and penetrating expression. Angry as he still felt, anxious as he was to know the reason of her unexpected coming, her appearance was so comical that George could not help smiling as he looked at her. She wore again the shot silk frock in which he had seen her on his second visit to Mary Street; a deep, purple embroidered fez made a Romeo-like covering for her short and curly dark hair; while a sop thrown to conventionality in the shape of a small black-beaded mantle only brought into greater prominence the eccentricity it was meant to disguise. She had either forgotten or not thought it necessary to exchange her open-work pink silk stockings and embroidered scarlet morocco slippers for foot-gear less startling and picturesque; her gloves, if she had worn any, she had long ago thrown aside, and George could not help acknowledging, as he looked at her, that it would need an intelligence stronger than poor Massey’s to discover in this remarkable guise the carefully brought-up young English lady whom alone his code taught him to respect. As this thought came into his mind, George’s expression changed, and grew gloomy and sad. The young girl was still watching him narrowly. “Are you often--so?” she asked, with a pause before the last word, and a mysterious emphasis upon it. “What do you mean, Nouna?” “So full of anger that your face grows all white and grey, and your mouth like a straight line, and you look as if you would kill the person that offends you.” And she shuddered and drew away from him again. George took one of her hands very gently in his. “No, Nouna, I am very seldom angry like that. It is only when any one does something which seems to me very wrong.” “Oh.” This explanation did not seem so re-assuring to the young lady as it ought to have been. “You were listening at the door all the time then?” she said, after a pause, not so much in fear as in timid respect. “No,” said he vehemently, growing hot at the suggestion. “Gentlemen don’t listen at doors.” “Don’t they?” said she incredulously. “Why not?” “It is mean, sneaking, bad form altogether.” “Is it? Then how do you find out things? Ah, you would pay a servant, perhaps, to do all that for you?” George grew scarlet and drew his hands away from her, half in indignation, half in horror. “Nouna!” he exclaimed, “where on earth did you pick up these awful ideas? To pay a servant to play the spy is the most rascally thing a man could do! A man who did it would deserve to be kicked.”