On making a startled inquiry of himself as to the cause of this unusual phenomenon, he realized at once that the chief trouble—or at least the chief diversion—was a pair of the most exquisite hands, though sometimes two tired little feet in worn-out shoes would share the guilt; and even an appealing face with dark troubled eyes looking up at him was now and again responsible. But why shouldn’t he have his guests on his mind? It was a most astonishing affair, this coming of Mr. Cripps’s nephew and his wife. Probably this accounted for everything. Finally, after a couple of hours of useless effort, he gave up the struggle and allowed his thoughts to dwell in peace on Edith Findlay. He went over and over in his mind everything she had said or done and looked. What a pathetic and helpless little figure! And there was her husband—a most objectionable sort of thing. Most likely that was the trouble—something wrong with him. Liquor—drugs—it might be anything. Think of the fellow not bringing the trunks out with him, knowing his wife had nothing! He would see to it himself in the morning. Yet how wonderfully she had managed to transform herself in some way—her hair so becomingly arranged. Really, it was extraordinary. Perhaps Hulda had lent her some of the things. And now he thought of it, how nice it was of Hulda to take such an interest. He hadn’t really appreciated her before. After a time it occurred to him that he ought to go up and see if there was anything he could do to make his guests, in the absence of their trunks, more comfortable for the night. Yes, it certainly was his duty as host to do what he could. On reaching the living room, however, he found that they’d gone upstairs, so he stood awhile looking at the chair one of them had been sitting in, and remembering how she had looked up at him when he rolled that same chair, with her in it, close up to the fire. From that he went on to recall other things and to run the pictures over and over again in his mind. Finally, when he came to himself, it was very late indeed. * * * * * Haworth was an early riser, and the next morning Hulda, hearing him in his machine shop in the basement, took him down a pot of coffee with toast and a cereal, as she always did when he went down there before breakfast; for if he once got absorbed in his work the idea of coming up would never occur to him. She found him at his drawing board, apparently considering something very carefully before getting it down on paper. Hearing her come in, he roused himself and looked up blankly. “Your coffee, sir,” she said; and placed the tray within his reach. He thanked her and at once poured out some, for he’d been sitting there most of the night and felt the need of it, now the matter was brought to his attention. As the maid was going out he stopped her with, “Oh, Hulda! It was—it was good of you to take care of Mrs. Findlay so—so nicely.”