“Thank you. But I don’t see the point, for I haven’t plucked you, and I don’t think you beautiful. You had better go. What would Lady Skene say?” “I am my own mistress. Lady Skene can say what she likes. Do let me wait on you.” A sudden mutiny of retaliation seized upon me. What did it matter? I felt quite hard and cold to the girl. “Very well,” I said, and sat down. She busied herself at once; poured the hot water; made the tea; stood behind me while I ate and drank. I took pains to do both imperturbably and at length. She never spoke the while. At the end I got up, and pushed the fragments together. “Now,” I said, “you can have your tea on the scraps, if you like. I am going out.” I left her seated quietly at the table. CHAPTER V. A YOUNG LADY’S CHASTENING--PHASE TWO She came to the lodge often after that, and amused herself putting the place in order, sometimes while I was present, but more often during my absence. I knew nothing of what was in her mind; but I confess it came, just at first, to give me a sort of gloating satisfaction thus to accept without comment these ministrations of what was intended, I suppose, for imperious beauty’s atonement to the poor beast whom she had wounded herself by insulting. She did not speak much, going about her duties with a young elastic confidence; but a consciousness of unuttered protest over my indifference, of wistful glances and deprecations of my blindness, began soon to grow irksome. She wanted to put herself right with herself, I supposed, rather than with me. I was ready enough to tell her so, yet somehow could never find the words. One day, on entering my den, I was surprised to encounter the figure of Lord Skene seated therein. “Where’s Ira?” he asked at once. “How should I know, sir?” I answered. “She isn’t here.” “But she comes here at times?” he said. “That’s her affair. She’s her own mistress, and has told me so. I can’t command even the lodge, it seems.” “Don’t be bitter, my boy,” he replied. “Only, if I were you, I wouldn’t encourage these visitations.” “I don’t.” “That’s right. You see, she’s a great catch--rather a unique young party with her looks and her fortune.” “I quite understand. I assure you, sir, I shall be only too glad if you’ll keep her away.” “What a misogynist it is!” He looked up at me suddenly, seemed to catch his breath, and put his hand to his forehead. “What is it, sir?” I exclaimed. “Eh!” he said vaguely. “Nothing--O, nothing!” He appeared to make an effort to recall himself, and was presently smiling genially, though his loose old underlip trembled. “What a great fellow you have grown, to be sure,” he said--“a fine personable fellow and a credit to us, too.” “You’re very good, sir. I wish I could think the same.”