“Her ladyship’s very much upset. She hasn’t had any sleep all night, miss,” said Jean. “She asked me if I’d warned you about the balcony. Of course I told her I did, but only in the daytime--I didn’t know it was unsafe. I’ve only been here a fortnight. Her ladyship was in the country until then.” She drew the blinds, and, crossing to the window, Lois looked out. The jagged edge of the broken balcony was there to remind her of her narrow escape and she shuddered as she recalled that dreadful moment when she had hung in space. “It was the butler’s fault,” said Jean maliciously. “I shouldn’t be surprised if he got the sack.” “If it hadn’t been for the butler I should have been killed.” “If it hadn’t been for the butler, miss, you wouldn’t have been in danger,” said the girl, and there seemed some truth in her remark. “Her ladyship told me to move you to-day to his lordship’s room on the floor below.” “But surely she’s not turning out Lord Moron?” asked Lois, aghast. Apparently the household staff entertained towards his lordship something of the contempt which his mother displayed, in public and private. “Oh, him!” said the girl with a shrug. “He doesn’t mind where he sleeps. He’d be just as happy in the garret. All he wants to do is to go on the stage and play with his silly old electricity! I wonder her ladyship allows him to go on in that childish way.” So the Earl of Moron’s queer desire was public property, thought Lois. Apart from the shock of the news that he was being turned out of his apartment to make room for a secretary, Lois was not sorry that new accommodation was to be offered to her, and her pleasure was intensified after her interview with the countess. Her ladyship, who had a predilection for strong colours, wore a gown of petunia that morning. Lois thought it made her look old. She made no reference to the accident, and for the first hour after breakfast they were engaged in letter-writing. Lady Moron had many correspondents, and there was the usual sprinkling of begging letters which had to be dealt with in the usual way. When Lois had finished her work and brought the last letter for her employer’s signature, the countess looked up. “You are not suffering any ill effects from last night’s terrible experience?” she asked. “No,” smiled Lois. “I have told the maid to move you into Selwyn’s room. As a matter of fact, it is never used by him; he prefers his little study at the top of the house and sleeps there nine nights out of ten. You are not worried about what happened?” Lois shook her head. “Or nervous?” The girl hesitated. “I was a little nervous last night.” “I thought you would be, and I have been considering what would be my best course to induce you to stay. I like you. And there is another reason; I want a woman in the house to whom I can talk confidentially.” She turned in her swivelled chair and looked up into Lois’ face. “I don’t want to be alone,” she said. “I am rather frightened of being alone.”