"Beg pardon, Madam." James the obsequious stood in the room, card tray in hand. "Major Leigh Wallace is waiting for you in the drawing room." Mrs. Parsons folded the note and slipped it inside her knitting bag. "Ask Major Wallace to come here," she said, pausing to switch on a floor lamp, the light from which cast a becoming glow on her as she selected a chair beside it, and took up her embroidery. "Ah, Leigh, good evening," she exclaimed a moment later as the young officer stood by her. "Have you come to make your peace with me?" "In what way have I offended?" Wallace asked. "You were so rude to one of my guests at my tea yesterday." Mrs. Parsons watched him as he made himself comfortable in a dainty settee under the lamp. "Rude to one of your guests? Impossible!" ejaculated Wallace in surprise. "To whom do you refer?" "Nina Potter." Mrs. Parsons had not taken her eyes off him, and she caught the sudden shifting of his gaze. "Why are you and she no longer friendly?" "You are mistaken." Wallace spoke stiffly. "We are--I am still a great admirer of hers--" "And Kitty--" Wallace flushed to the roots of his sandy hair. "Kitty never had very much use for me," he admitted, rather bitterly. "She--she--seems to be tired--" "Of being a cat's paw?" "Mrs. Parsons!" Wallace was on his feet, his eyes snapping with anger. "Don't go," Mrs. Parsons' smile was ingratiating. "Forgive me if I blunder, Leigh. Sometimes an outsider sees most of the game. Will you take a friendly piece of advice--" "Surely," but Wallace was slow in reseating himself. "Then avoid Ben Potter." Mrs. Parsons picked up her neglected embroidery, and did not trouble to glance at her guest. Wallace's attempt at a laugh was something of a failure. "I saw Potter an hour ago at the club," he volunteered. "He told me that he and his wife were leaving for New York to-night." "Indeed." Mrs. Parsons held her needle nearer the light and threaded it with deft fingers. "Is Kitty Baird going with them?" "I believe not." Wallace moved a trifle and shaded his face with his hand. "I've just come from 'Rose Hill.'" "And how is Kitty? Did you see her?" Mrs. Parsons spoke with such rapidity that her questions ran together. "No." Wallace compressed his lips. "She sent down word that she begged to be excused." "Oh!" Mrs. Parsons lowered her embroidery and regarded her companion. He looked wretchedly ill, and the haggard lines were deeper than ever. For a man of his height and breadth of shoulder, he seemed to have shrunken, for his clothes appeared to hang upon him. Dwelling on his ill-health would not tend to lessen Wallace's nervous condition, and Mrs. Parsons omitted personalities. "Were you at the Baird inquest?" she inquired. "Yes, that is, I got there late--" stumbling somewhat in his speech. "Why don't you go and see Kitty, Cecelia? That house of hers is sort of ghastly--"