Mildred was very amiable with him, and they were together a great deal. Mrs. Perth had taken a fancy to Frank, whose manners she pronounced perfect, and talked much to him. She even discussed the death of Walter Starth, and the probability of Lancaster being the assassin. But by this time Frank had schooled himself into hearing the case talked of without moving so much as an eyelid. In a couple of weeks he became quite an accepted fact in the life of Rose Cottage, and, indeed, of the village. Even Mrs. Baker had ceased to ask him questions. Several letters addressed to Desmond O'Neil, with the Dublin post-mark, had arrived, so Mrs. Baker was quite satisfied that he came from the country whence she procured her butter. From being a nine days' wonder in that quiet Essex hamlet Frank became a comparative nonentity, which was exactly the state of things Jarman wished to bring about. Thus, when Denham arrived on his three days' visit, there was nothing likely to connect the secretary with the bedraggled man who had arrived so late at night. And Miss Cork, in spite of her odd ways and Lancaster's suspicions, kept her own counsel most faithfully. One afternoon Frank, now quite at his ease in his disguise, strolled over to the cottage to ask for afternoon tea. He brought a book of poems in his pocket, for Mildred was fond of hearing him read. Frank could read admirably, which is a rare accomplishment, and often he would declaim poems to Mrs. Perth and Mildred. But on this occasion there was no chance of enjoying Browning, for Jenny Arrow from the Rectory was present. She was a kittenish damsel of eighteen, with a freckled face, a turn-up nose, and a gay, vivacious manner. Also she had a vein of romance, and cherished an unrequited affection for the dark secretary. She confided this to Mildred. "Doesn't he look a romance, dear?" said Jenny, when gazing from the drawing-room window she saw Frank approach. "Don't you love him, Milly?" Mildred laughed, "I have had quite enough of love," she said. "That Denham boy worries my life out. Then there's your brother Billy." "Oh, Billy's an ass!" said Jenny, contemptuously. "He falls in love with everyone he sees. I suppose you will marry Mr. Darrel?" "Certainly not," said Mildred, quickly. "What put such an idea into your head, Jenny?" The young lady nodded sagaciously. "Oh, I know," said she; "it's not to see poor pa that Mr. Darrel comes down here. Ma saw that. Ma says he's in love with you, and, being rich, you're sure to marry him." "I would never marry for money, Jenny," said Mildred, thinking of Eustace. "Mr. Darrel will never make me his wife." "Oh, but he's so very rich." "Then marry him yourself." "I would rather marry Mr. O'Neil." Mildred laughed again, but all the same, for some reason inexplicable to herself, felt annoyed. "Here _is_ Mr. O'Neil; you'd better propose." "Mildred, if you reveal my love--oh! how I shall hate you."