'Yes, this afternoon.' 'Mr. Egremont, may I come and help to put up a few to-morrow morning?' Again her tongue uttered words in defiance of herself. She could not believe it when the words were spoken. Egremont perused the floor. The slight frown had returned. 'But perhaps I shall be in your way,' she continued, hastily. 'I didn't think. I am troublesome.' 'Indeed you are not at all, Miss Trent. I should be very glad. If--if you are sure you can spare the time?' 'I can quite well. I do a little work for Mrs. Grail, but that doesn't take anything like all the morning.' A word was on his tongue. He was about to say that perhaps it would be as well, after all, to tell Grail, and for Thyrza to ask the latter's permission. He even began to speak, but hesitated, ceased. 'Shall I come at this same time?' Thyrza inquired, her voice almost failing her. 'I shall be here at about eleven; certainly by half-past.' 'Then I will come. I shall be so glad to help.' A pronoun was lost; something prevented its utterance. Egremont made no reply. Thyrza found power to hold her hand out and take leave. How often they seemed to have held each other's hand! CHAPTER XXI MISCHIEF AFOOT It would have been a remarkable thing if Egremont had succeeded, even for a day or two, in keeping secret his work at the library. The vulgar in Lambeth are not a jot less diligent in prying and gossip than are their kin in Mayfair. And chance is wont to be mischief-making all the world over. When Mr. Bower passed the library in the dinner-hour on Monday, and, after seeing Thyrza Trent come out, forthwith observed Mr. Egremont standing within at the window, his mind busied itself with the coincidence very much as it might have been expected to do. When he reached home he privately reported the little incident to his wife. They looked at each other, and Mr. Bower lowered first one eyelid, then the other. 'Is Grail still at his work?' Mrs. Bower inquired. 'Safe enough. He goes on till Saturday. Ackroyd told me so yesterday.' 'And her sister's at work too?' 'Safe enough.' 'Is the workmen there still?' 'No, they're all out. Safe enough.' Mr. Bower seemed to find a satisfaction in repeating the significant phrase. He chuckled disagreeably. 'It looks queer,' remarked his wife, with a certain contemptuousness. 'It looks uncommon queer. I wonder whether old Mrs. Butterfield happened to be safe likewise.' He nodded. 'I'll look in and have a word with the old lady to-night, eh?'