Then, on a sudden, they lighted up as if they had caught fire from hers, and his adoration flaunted crimson banners in his cheeks, and his heart, I dare say, was a great blaze of happiness. He loved her, you see; when she entered a room it really made a difference to this absurd young man. He saw a great many lights, for instance, and heard music. And accordingly, he laughed now in a very contented fashion. "I wasn't burglarising," said he--"that is, not exactly. I ought to have asked your permission, I suppose, before coming here, but I couldn't find you, and--and it was rather important. You see," Mr. Woods continued, pointing to the great carved desk. "I happened to speak of this desk to the Colonel to-night. We--we were talking of Uncle Fred's death, and I found out, quite by accident, that it hadn't been searched since then--that is, not thoroughly. There are secret drawers, you see; one here," and he touched the spring that threw it open, "and the other on this side. There is--there is nothing of importance in them; only receipted bills and such. The other drawer is inside that centre compartment, which is locked. The Colonel wouldn't come. He said it was all foolishness, and that he had a book he wanted to read. So he sent me after what he called my mare's nest. It isn't, you see--no, not quite, not quite," Mr. Woods murmured, with an odd smile, and then laughed and added, lamely: "I--I suppose I'm the only person who knew about it." Mr. Woods's manner was a thought strange. He stammered a little in speaking; he laughed unnecessarily; and Margaret could see that his hands trembled. Taking him all in all, you would have sworn he was repressing some vital emotion. But he did not seem unhappy--no, not exactly unhappy. He was with Margaret, you see. "Oh, you beauty!" his meditations ran. He had some excuse. In the soft, rosy twilight of the room--the study at Selwoode is panelled in very dark oak, and the doors and windows are screened with crimson hangings--her parti-coloured red-and-yellow gown might have been a scrap of afterglow left over from an unusually fine sunset. In a word, Miss Hugonin was a very quaint and colourful and delectable figure as she came a little further into the room. Her eyes shone like blue stars, and her hair shone--there must be pounds of it, Billy thought--and her very shoulders, plump, flawless, ineffable, shone with the glow of an errant cloud-tatter that is just past the track of dawn, and is therefore neither pink nor white, but manages somehow to combine the best points of both colours. "Ah, indeed?" said Miss Hugonin. Her tone imparted a surprising degree of chilliness to this simple remark.