She rose from her chair, her eyes set unmovingly on my face. Her voice was low. "How dare you say that? How dare you? Am I to take orders from you--my secretary--my servant?" "You called me your friend the other day." "I seem to have been hasty. A kind friend indeed to listen to stories against me!" "The story is against the man--not against you." "Are you dining with any other friends to-night?" "I've told you that I'm not." "Then I request--I desire--that you will make it convenient to give me the pleasure of your company--to meet my friend, Mr. Powers." My temper went suddenly. "I won't sit at meat with the blackguard--above all, not in your company." I saw her fist clench itself by her side. "I repeat my request," she said. "I repeat my refusal, but I can do no less than offer you my resignation." "You won't accept my offer--but I accept yours very gladly." "It will be kind of you to relieve me from my duties as soon as possible." "To-morrow." She turned her back on me and walked off to the window. I stood there a minute, and then went to the door. She turned round, and our eyes met. I waited for a moment, but she faced round to the window again, and I went out. I walked quickly down the hill. I was very unhappy, but I was not remorseful. I knew that another man could have done the thing much better, but it had been the right thing to do and I had done it as well as I could. She had made no attempt to defend Powers, nor to deny what she must have known that Cartmell had said about him. Yet, while tacitly admitting that he was a most obnoxious description of blackguard, she asked him to dinner--and ordered me to sit by and see them together. If her service entailed that sort of thing, then indeed there must be an end to service with her. But grieved as I was that this must be so--and the blow to me was heavy on all grounds, whether of interest or of feeling--I grieved more that she should sit with him herself than that she bade me witness what seemed in my eyes her degradation. What was the meaning of it? I was at that time nowhere near understanding her. My home was no more than a cottage, built against the south wall of the Old Priory. The front door opened straight into my parlor, without hall or vestibule; a steep little stair ran up from the corner of the room itself and led to my bedroom on the floor above. Behind my parlor lay the kitchen and two other rooms, occupied by my housekeeper, Mrs. Field, and her husband, who was one of the gardeners. It was all very small, but it was warm, snug, and homely. The walls were covered almost completely with my books, which overflowed on to chairs and tables, too. When fire and lamp were going in the evening, the little room seemed to glow with a studious cheerfulness, and my old leather arm-chair wooed me with affectionate welcome. In four years I had taken good root in my little home. I had to uproot myself--to-morrow.