“I’m one of the few that has seen her,” said Mrs. Royce, with a sort of grim satisfaction. “That’s why I take a kind of special interest in her. I seen her the night the doctor brought her here to Wyngate a young bride. That’ll be three years ago this winter, but I remember it as plain as plain. There was a terrible snowstorm, and he couldn’t git out to his place, so he had to bring her here, and she sat right in this very room, just where you’re sitting.” Instinctively Lexy looked behind her. “I feel that same way myself—as if she was a ghost,” said Mrs. Royce solemnly. “Near three years ago, and her living only three miles off, an’ I’ve never set eyes on her again. I’ve never forgotten her, though, the sweet pretty young creature!” “But why do you suppose she lives like that?” Mrs. Royce came nearer. “Miss Moran,” she said, “that doctor is crazy. I’m not the only one to say it. He’s as crazy—hush, now! Here’s that poor young man!” The “poor young man” came into the room, with that very nice smile of his. “Good morning!” he said. “I say, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you a bit longer, Miss Moran.” “I’m glad you didn’t,” said Lexy. “I’d have felt awfully guilty.” “I went out to telephone,” he explained. “Thought I’d tell Muriel I was here, you know; but they have no telephone. Dashed odd, isn’t it, for a doctor not to have a telephone in the house?” “I don’t think he’s a real doctor—a physician, I mean,” said Lexy. She glanced around and saw that Mrs. Royce had gone. Springing up, she crossed the room to Captain Grey. “Has Mrs. Royce—has any one said anything to you?” she asked, almost in a whisper. “No!” answered the young man, startled. “Why? What’s up?” “Mrs. Royce says—I suppose I really ought to tell you.” “No doubt about it!” “Mrs. Royce says Dr. Quelton is crazy!” Captain Grey took the news very coolly. Lexy observed that he suppressed a smile. “Oh, that!” he said. “But you know, Miss Moran, in these little villages any one who’s at all out of the ordinary is called crazy. I’ve noticed it before. I can soon find out for myself, though, can’t I? I thought, if you didn’t want me this morning, I’d go over there—pay a call, you know. I understand it’s three miles from here, so I shouldn’t be very long. I’d come back here for lunch.” “But, Captain Grey, you mustn’t think I expect you to—” “It’s not that,” he said. “Only you said you’d let me help you in your little job, and I want to!” He smiled down at her. “So,” he said, “I’ll be back for lunch;” and off he went. Lexy went to the window and looked out. She saw Captain Grey striding off up the muddy road, perfectly indifferent to the rain, and curiously elegant, in spite of his wet weather clothes. She was thinking of him with great friendliness and appreciation; but she was not thinking of him in the least as Mrs. Royce imagined she was thinking.