“I find my rooms always ready for me here,” said Mrs. Trafford; “and I have no doubt that Mrs. Maxwell has given orders about yours, Mr. Maitland; but it's your own fault, remember, if you 're not lodged to your liking.” Maitland was not long in making his choice. A little garden pavilion, which was connected with the house by a glass corridor, suited him perfectly; it combined comfort and quiet and isolation,--who could ask for more?--within an easy access of society when it was wanted. There was the vast old garden, as much orchard and shrubbery as garden, to stroll in unobserved; and a little bathroom into which the water trickled all day long with a pleasant drip, drip, that sounded most soothingly. “It's the Commodore's favorite place, sir, this garden-house,” said the butler, who did the honors to Maitland, “and it's only a chance that he's not here to claim it. There was some mistake about his invitation, and I suppose he's not coming.” “Yes, I passed him a couple of miles off; he 'll be here almost immediately.” “We 'll put him up on the second floor, sir; the rooms are all newly done up, and very handsome.” “I 'm sorry if I inconvenience him, Mr. Raikes,” said Maitland, languidly; “but I've got here now, and I'm tired, and my traps are half taken out; and, in fact, I should be sorrier still to have to change. You understand me,--don't you?” “Perfectly, sir; and my mistress, too, gave orders that you were to have any room you pleased; and your own hours, too, for everything.” “She is most kind. When can I pay my respects to her?” “Before dinner, sir, is the usual time. All the new company meet her in the drawing-room. Oh, there's the Commodore now; I hear his voice, and I declare they 're bringing his trunks here, after all I said.” The old sailor was now heard, in tones that might have roused a main-deck, calling to the servants to bring down all his baggage to the pavilion, to heat the bath, and send him some sherry and a sandwich. “I see you 're getting ready for me, Raikes,” said he, as the somewhat nervous functionary appeared at the door. “Well, indeed, Commodore Graham, these rooms are just taken.” “Taken! and by whom? Don't you know, and have n't you explained, that they are always mine?” “We thought up to this morning, Commodore, that you were not coming.” “Who are 'we,'--you and the housemaids, eh? Tell me who are 'we,' sir?” “My mistress was greatly distressed, sir, at George's mistake, and she sent him back late last night.” “Don't bother me about that. Who's here,--who has got my quarters, and where is he? I suppose it's a man.” “It's a Mr. Norman Maitland.” “By George, I'd have sworn it!” cried the Commodore, getting purple with passion. “I knew it before you spoke. Go in and say that Commodore Graham would wish to speak with him.” “He has just lain down, sir; he said he did n't feel quite well, and desired he mightn't be disturbed.”