"The young lady declines to think of it. Have the goodness to take yourself away, and consider yourself lucky that you are allowed to escape scot free." The man moved towards the door, endeavouring to bear himself as if he were doing so of his own free will. He spoke to the woman. "Ain't you coming with me?" "Yes, I'm coming." She hastened towards him. Graham interposed. "Let him go. There are one or two things about which we should like to speak to you, this young lady and I, after he has gone." But she would have none of him. Shrinking back, she stared at him, in silence, for a second or two; then began to shriek at him like some wild creature. "I won't stay!--I won't!--I shall go!--I shall! You tried to get my key--my key! You touch it--you dare! You asked me if my name"--she stopped, stared about as if in terror, gave a great sigh, "You asked me if my name----" She stopped again--and sighed again, the pupils of her eyes dilating as she watched and listened for what was invisible and inaudible to all but her. Graham moved forward, intending to soothe her. Mistaking, apparently, his intention, she rushed at him with outstretched arms, giving utterance to yell after yell. In a moment she was past him and flying from the house. Her male companion, who stood still in the doorway, pointed his thumb over his shoulder with a grin. "There you are, you see--drove her out of her seven senses! So you have." Much more leisurely, the man went after the woman. For some reason, when Mr. Bruce Graham and Miss Brodie were left alone, nothing was said about the recent visitors. "If you'll sit down and wait," remarked Miss Brodie, "I'll go and take my things off." Having returned from performing those sacred offices, the topic still remained untouched. Possibly that was because there were so many things which needed doing. When one has been out all day, and keeps no maid, when one returns there are things which must be done. For instance, there was a fire to make. Miss Brodie observed that there ought to have been two, one in the kitchen, and one in the sitting-room; but declared that folks would have to be content with one. And that one Bruce Graham made. She brought in the wood, and the coal, and the paper; and then she went to fetch the matches. When she returned she caught him in the act. "What are you doing?" she demanded. He was on his knees on the hearthrug, with some sticks in his hand. "Making a fire--on scientific principles. I'm a scientific expert at this kind of thing. Women's methods are unscientific as a rule." "Indeed." Her air was scornful. "Men always think they can make fires. It's most surprising." She commented on his methods--particularly when he took the pieces of coal from the scuttle, and placed them in their places with his fingers. "That's right! Men always use their fingers to put coal on the fire--if they can. It's an agreeable habit." He continued calm.