"Then his notion of my seeking out the man Smethurst and giving him a thrashing: you would justify that, too?" he cried. "No, not quite," she answered, with a bit of a smile. "That is a little absurd, I admit—it is merely an ebullition of anger. He won’t think any more of that in a day or two I am certain. But the other—the other, I fear, is a fixed idea." At this point we heard some one calling outside: "Miss Mary! I have been searching for ye everywhere; are ye coming for a walk down to the shore?" Then a voice, apparently overhead at an open window— "All right, sir; I will be down in a moment." Another second or two, and we hear some one singing on the stair, with a fine air of bravado— _A strong sou-wester’s blowing, Billy; can’t you hear it roar, now?_ —the gay voice passes through the hall— _Lord help ’em, how I pities all un—_ —then the last phrase is heard outside— _—folks on shore now—_ Queen Titania darts to the open window of the dining-room. "Mary! Mary!" she calls. "Come here." The next instant a pretty enough picture is framed by the lower half of the window, which is open. The background is a blaze of scarlet and yellow and green—a mixture of sunlight and red poppies and nasturtiums and glancing fuchsia leaves. Then this slight figure that has appeared is dark in shadow; but there is a soft reflected light from the front of the house, and that just shows you the smile on Mary Avon’s face and the friendliness of her dark soft eyes. "Oh, how do you do?" she says, reaching in her hand and shaking hands with him. There is not any timidity in her manner. No one has been whispering to her of the dark plots surrounding her. Nor was Mr. Smith much embarrassed, though he did not show himself as grateful as a young man might have done for so frank and friendly a welcome. "I scarcely thought you would have remembered me," said he modestly. But at this moment Denny-mains interfered, and took the young lady by the arm, and dragged her away. We heard their retreating footsteps on the gravel walk. "So you remember her?" says our hostess, to break the awkward silence. "Oh, yes, well enough," said he; and then he goes on to say stammeringly—"Of course, I—I have nothing to say against her——" "If you have," it is here interposed, as a wholesome warning, "you had better not mention it here. Ten thousand hornets’ nests would be a fool compared to this house if you said anything in it against Mary Avon."