"It is I," came a crisp voice from the bottom of the narrow stairway that led up to the living-quarters above. Monsieur Mirabeau, his whiskers neatly brushed and twisted to a point, his velvet lounging jacket adorned with a smart little boutonnière, his shoes polished till they glistened, approached the circle and, bending his gaunt frame with gallant disdain for the crick in his back, kissed the hand of the young lady. "I observed your approach, my dear Miss Emsdale. We have been expecting you for ages. Indeed, it has been the longest afternoon that any of us has ever experienced." Mr. Bramble frowned. "Ahem!" he coughed. "I am sorry if I have intruded," began de Bosky, starting to arise. "Sit still," said Thomas Trotter. He glanced at Miss Emsdale. "You're not in the way, old chap." "You mentioned a book, Miss Emsdale," murmured Mr. Bramble. "When you came in, you'll remember." She looked searchingly into Trotter's eyes, and finding her answer there, remarked: "Ample time for that, Mr. Bramble. Mr. de Bosky is my good friend. And as for dear M. Mirabeau,--ah, what shall I say of him?" She smiled divinely upon the grey old Frenchman. "I commend your modesty," said M. Mirabeau. "It prevents your saying what every one knows,--that I am your adorer!" Tom Trotter was pacing the floor. He stopped in front of her, a scowl on his handsome face. "Now, tell us just what the infernal dog said to you," he said. She started. "You--you have already heard something?" she cried, wonderingly. "Ah, what did I tell you?" cried M. Mirabeau triumphantly, glancing first at Trotter and then at Bramble. "He _is_ in love with her, and this is what comes of it. He resorts to--" "Is this magic?" she exclaimed. "Not a bit of it," said Trotter. "We've been putting two and two together, the three of us. Begin at the beginning," he went on, encouragingly. "Don't hold back a syllable of it." "You must promise to be governed by my advice," she warned him. "You must be careful,--oh, so very careful." "He will be good at any rate," said Mr. Bramble, fixing the young man with a look. Trotter's face went crimson. "Ahem!" came guardedly from M. Mirabeau. "Proceed, my dear. We are most impatient." The old Frenchman's deductions were not far from right. Young Mr. Smith-Parvis, unaccustomed to opposition and believing himself to be entitled to everything he set his heart on having, being by nature predatory, sustained an incredible shock when the pretty and desirable governess failed utterly to come up to expectations. Not only did she fail to come up to expectations but she took the wind completely out of his sails, leaving him adrift in a void so strange and unusual that it was hours before he got his bearings again. Some of the things she said to him got under a skin so thick and unsensitive that nothing had ever been sharp enough to penetrate it before.