He did not affectionately hustle her in by the arm as he would have hustled in Miss Alicia, but he closely guarded her with the umbrella until he guided her inside. “Thank you,” she said. The first object she became aware of was a thin face with pointed chin and ferret eyes peering at her round the end of a sofa, then a sharp voice. “Tak' off her cloak an' shake th' rain off it in th' wash 'us',” it said. “Mother an' Aunt Susan's out. Let him unbutton it fer thee.” “I can unbutton it myself, thank you,” said Lady Joan. Tembarom took it when she had unbuttoned it. He took it from her shoulders before she had time to stop him. Then he walked into the tiny “wash 'us” and shook it thoroughly. He came back and hung it on a chair before the fire. Tummas was leaning back in his pillows and gazing at her. “I know tha name,” he said. “He towd me,” with a jerk of the head toward Tembarom. “Did he?” replied Lady Joan without interest. A flaringly illustrated New York paper was spread out upon his sofa. He pushed it aside and pulled the shabby atlas toward him. It fell open at a map of North America as if through long habit. “Sit thee down,” he ordered. Tembarom had stood watching them both. “I guess you'd better not do that,” he suggested to Tummas. “Why not?” said the boy, sharply. “She's th' wench he was goin' to marry. It's th' same as if he'd married her. If she wur his widder, she'd want to talk about him. Widders allus wants to talk. Why shouldn't she? Women's women. He'd ha' wanted to talk about her.” “Who is `he'?” asked Joan with stiff lips. “The Temple Barholm as' 'd be here if he was na.” Joan turned to Tembarom. “Do you come here to talk to this boy about HIM?” she said. “How dare you!” Tummas's eyes snapped; his voice snapped also. “He knew next to nowt about him till I towd him,” he said. “Then he came to ax me things an' foind out more. He knows as much as I do now. Us sits here an' talks him over.” Lady Joan still addressed Tembarom. “What interest can you have in the man who ought to be in your place?” she asked. “What possible interest?” “Well,” he answered awkwardly, “because he ought to be, I suppose. Ain't that reason enough?” He had never had to deal with women who hated him and who were angry and he did not know exactly what to say. He had known very few women, and he had always been good-natured with them and won their liking in some measure. Also, there was in his attitude toward this particular woman a baffled feeling that he could not make her understand him. She would always think of him as an enemy and believe he meant things he did not mean. If he had been born and educated in her world, he could have used her own language; but he could use only his own, and there were so many things he must not say for a time at least. “Do you not realize,” she said, “that you are presuming upon your position--that you and this boy are taking liberties?” Tummas broke in wholly without compunction.