In about half an hour she re-appeared, accompanied by Miss Brotherton. They were in white wrappers, with their dresses shortened a little, and their hair tucked under mob caps. Miss Brotherton looked like a lady’s-maid, Clara like a lady acting a lady’s-maid. I assumed the command at once, pointing out to what heaps in the other room those I had grouped in this were to be added, and giving strict injunctions as to carrying only a few at once, and laying them down with care in regularly ordered piles. Clara obeyed with a mock submission, Miss Brotherton with a reserve which heightened the impression of her dress. I was instinctively careful how I spoke to Clara, fearing to compromise her, but she seemed all at once to change her _rôle_, and began to propose, object, and even insist upon her own way, drawing from me the threat of immediate dismission from my service, at which her companion laughed with an awkwardness showing she regarded the pleasantry as a presumption. Before one o’clock, the first room was almost empty. Then the great bell rang, and Clara, coming from the auxiliary chamber, put her head in at the door. ‘Won’t you come to luncheon?’ she said, with a sly archness, looking none the less bewitching for a smudge or two on her lovely face, or the blackness of the delicate hands which she held up like two paws for my admiration. ‘In the servants’ hall? Workmen don’t sit down with ladies and gentlemen. Did Miss Brotherton send you to ask me?’ She shook her head. ‘Then you had better come and lunch with me.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I hope you will _some_ day honour my little fragment of a house. It is a curious old place,’ I said. ‘I don’t like musty old places,’ she replied. ‘But I have heard you speak with no little admiration of the Hall: some parts of it are older than my sentry-box.’ ‘I can’t say I admire it at all as a place to live in,’ she answered curtly. ‘But I was not asking you to live in mine,’ I said--foolishly arguing. She looked annoyed, whether with herself or me I could not tell, but instantly answered, ‘Some day--when I can without--But I must go and make myself tidy, or Miss Brotherton will be fancying I have been talking to you!’ ‘And what have you been doing, then?’ ‘Only asking you to come to lunch.’ ‘Will you tell her that?’ ‘Yes--if she says anything.’ ‘Then you _had_ better make haste, and be asked no questions.’ She glided away. I threw on my coat, and re-crossed the park.