Mr. Moody faltered. His whole manner underwent a swift and peculiar change. His eyes were riveted upon the approaching figure of a young lady. Casually, from time to time, his roving, detached gaze had rested upon her back as she stood near the window. As a back, it did not mean anything to him. But now she was approaching,--and a queer, cold little something ran swiftly down his spine. It was Lady Jane Thorne! Smash went his house of cards into a jumbled heap. It collapsed from a lofty height. Lady Jane Thorne! No use trying to lord it over her! She was the real thing! Couldn't put on "lugs" with her,--not a bit of it! She knew! His monocle dropped. He tried to catch it. Missed! "My word!" he mumbled, as he stooped over to retrieve it from the rug at his feet. The exertion sent a ruddy glow to his neck and ears and brow. "Did you break it?" cried Mrs. Millidew. He stuck it in his waist-coat pocket without examination. "This is Miss Emsdale, our governess," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "She's an English girl, Mr. Moody." "Glad to meet you," stammered Mr. Moody, desperately. "How do you do, Mr. Moody," said Jane, in the most matter-of-fact way. Mr. Moody knew that she was a paid governess. He had known it for many months. But that didn't alter the case. She was the "real thing." He couldn't put on any "side" with her. He couldn't bring himself to it, not if his life depended on it. Not even if she had been a scullery-maid and appeared before him in greasy ginghams. All very well to "stick it on" with these fashionable New Yorkers, but when it came to the daughter of the Earl of Wexham,--well, it didn't matter _what_ she was as long as he knew _who_ she was. His mask was off. The change in his manner was so abrupt, so complete, that his august customers could not fail to notice it. Something was wrong with the poor man! Certainly he was not himself. He looked ill,--at any rate, he did not look as well as usual. Heart, that's what it was, flashed through Mrs. Millidew's brain. Mrs. Smith-Parvis took it to be vertigo. Sometimes her husband looked like that when-- "Will you please excuse me, ladies,--just for a moment or two?" he mumbled, in a most extraordinary voice. "I will go at once and write a note to Mr. Juneo. Make yourselves at 'ome. And--and--" He shot an appealing glance at Miss Emsdale,--"and you too, Miss." In a very few minutes a stenographer came out of the office into which Mr. Moody had disappeared, with a typewritten letter to Mr. Juneo, and the word that Mr. Moody had been taken suddenly ill and begged to be excused. He hoped that they would be so gracious as to allow Mr. Paddock to show them everything they had in stock,--and so on. "It was so sudden," said Mrs. Millidew. "I never saw such a change in a man in all my life. Heart, of course. High living, you may be sure. It gets them every time."