“I do hope you will like it and be comfortable, dear!” she said as she stood for a moment on the threshold, a strangely perplexing expression in her eyes, and one which I couldn’t then interpret. “Be sure to tell us if you DON’T and we will have you moved at once.” “Why shouldn’t I?” I asked in unfeigned astonishment. “It is delightfully snug and sunny--a south aspect--a charming view and--oh! the most delightful of dainty furniture. Why, Dora! I should indeed be an ungrateful Sybarite if I didn’t revel in it.” And Dora forced a smile. The hot summer days drove us into the open: we got up early and went to bed late. Being a man, and fond of cricket and fishing, you would hardly appreciate the life we led. We are women of the old school, and consequently spent all our time at home on the lawn, plying our needles, possibly at the same time chewing chocolates or discussing our favourite books; motoring and golf we left to others. The 15th of June was warm and sultry; we had been invited to spend the evening at the adjoining vicarage; Dora had a headache, her mother was a chronic invalid, and so--willy-nilly--I went alone. It was a stupid affair: mediocre music, still more mediocre supper--and--BRIDGE! Fancy Bridge in a sleepy country Parsonage, fancy Bridge anywhere! I hate Bridge! The guests were of the usual sort, prudish, prosy and plain; a widow and twins, the Miss Somebodies of Somewhere; a curate, a doctor and a lawyer! What (with the exception of the last) could be more respectable, what more dull--deadly dull? They were all (the men, I mean) very anxious I should play cards, but for once in a way I made myself positively disagreeable--and sat--alone! Eleven o’clock came. It was time to go! I rose with alacrity, omitting, I believe, in the intensity of joy, the formal expressions of regret. The vicar accompanied me as far as the gates; bidding me a bland good-night, he retraced his steps with a sigh of relief. Mrs. Maitland had left a light burning in the hall. I turned it out, and taking up my candle proceeded to my bedroom and was beginning to undress when a strange thing happened. My bedroom door (which I felt positively certain I had locked) slowly opened and a man peered in. I can see him now--strong, regular features with piercing dark and somewhat sinister eyes that were in marked contrast to the iron-grey brows and wavy, neatly parted hair. The chin was square, the head well shaped; he was a handsome man, yet he did not please me! I was frightened. For some seconds he glanced furtively round the room, his eyes finally resting on the bedstead, which he regarded in a manner that made my flesh creep! Who could he be? what on earth did he want? Terrified lest he should see me--though why it was he hadn’t done so I couldn’t for the life of me imagine--I kept shrinking backwards, backwards into the alcove where I hung my dresses, in the wild hope that they would afford me a safe hiding-place.