He drew close to the banisters, leaning over so as to make his voice quite audible; even to himself it sounded hoarse and strained, echoing through the emptiness of the house. "My name is Mostyn Clithero," he said, "and I have every right to be here. We have met before, Miss Armitage. But please wait, and I will come down to you." He spoke the last words rather hurriedly, having some fear in his mind that she might run away, make her escape by the front door before he could reach her side. This, however, she did not seem at all disposed to do. Instead, she broke out into a soft laugh--a laugh that was musical in tone, but which grated upon Mostyn's ears, for it reminded him of her attitude towards him upon Derby day. She had remembered him, then, as soon as he had mentioned his name, and the recollection was one to arouse her laughter. Mostyn set his teeth firmly, and descended the broken and rickety staircase with all the dignity that he could muster. Rada was still standing beside the organ. She had picked up the fallen music-stool and replaced it in position. She stood almost directly under the over-hanging lamp, a lamp shaded in red, which added its lustre to the rich colouring of her face. An unruly lock of black hair hung over her forehead, and she was still smiling as Mostyn approached her--smiling, her lips parted over a row of white, even teeth. She had quite recovered her self-possession, whereas Mostyn felt that he was trembling, partly with nervousness and partly with indignation. "I thought you were Willis, the gardener, when I first saw you up there in the gallery, and had got over my surprise. You made me jump, you know, because I imagined I was all alone in the house." She was quite taking command of the situation. "So you are Mr. Mostyn Clithero," she went on. "I remember you quite well, though what you are doing in Partinborough Grange at this time of night is a mystery to me." She had waited till Mostyn had reached the bottom of the stairs before speaking; now she seated herself upon the music-stool, leaning an elbow upon a corner of the organ, staring Mostyn fully in the face, with a great assumption of ease and self-confidence. "Perhaps you will explain yourself," she added, when he reached her side. Mostyn felt himself in a ridiculous position. It was he who was being called upon to give an explanation, and yet Rada Armitage was so palpably the intruder, the one who should be summoned to explain. "I am here," he faltered, almost apologetically, "because the house is mine, and I have to-day come down from London to take possession of it." "Partinborough Grange yours?" Rada had ceased to smile, but she was in no way disconcerted. "How can that be? The Grange belonged to Mr. Royce. He was no relation of yours, was he?" "He left me the house by will," Mostyn explained; "that is the simple truth. And now, Miss Armitage----"