She stood aside for Hal to pass down the passage, adding grimly as Hal loitered, with rather an amused, engaging expression: “I don’t stand for much more than a door, with a G on it, as I often tell Mr. Hayward, but I suppose it’s all right.” “A little more occasionally,” suggested Hal. “A door wouldn’t be much use to Mr. Hayward, anyhow.” “That’s what he says. Won’t you go down to his room?” “What are you going to do?” “Get the tea. It’s one of the few things I can do passably well.” “Let me come and help. It won’t take long. I’m interested in that door. You see, I’m not even G; and I don’t possess a front door.” The music-teacher looked searchingly into her face, and was evidently pleased with what she saw, for she adopted a friendly note, and seemed ready to chat. Hal followed her into the little kitchen, and commenced to take off her hat. “I’m an old friend,” she volunteered, “and I often leave my hat in here. Are both Mr. Hayward’s sisters out?” “Miss Hayward will be late tonight, and her sister is uncertain. It depends somewhat upon which young man she is out with,” in acid tones. Hal glanced up in astonishment, but her companion was busy with the cups and saucers, and did not notice the look. “All I can say is, I’m sorry for that nice gentleman who is fool enough to think of marrying her. Lord! he’d be safer with some one with a face like a door-knocker, such as mine. But there, they’re all the same; and the nicest of them are generally the biggest fools.” Hal grasped the situation at once, and instead of enlightening her concerning her own identity, said casually: “There’s another young man as well, is there?” “There is so. A pawnbroker I should take him to be, who wears the jewellery left in his care on his person for safety. As a matter of fact, I believe he is a South African millionaire. He brought her home one day, and Blakde—that’s the housekeeper’s husband down below—recognised him. He was out in South Africa in the war, and he saw him then.” Hal drummed on the table with her fingers to assume nonchalance. “Does Miss Hayward know?” “Know? Of course she doesn’t. How should she know, particularly if that artful monkey did not want her to? I don’t know where the poor sick man would be now but for me. She’s always off somewhere—that minx—and I rush back from my music pupils, because I can’t rest for the thought of him here all alone. I’ve given one up, who wanted a lesson at half-past four every day. That’s the time he needs his tea.” “Why do you do all this for him?” Hal found herself asking, a little unaccountably. “He is nothing to you, is he—no relation, I mean?” “Nothing to me!… Oh, isn’t he though! I’d like to know what is anything, if he’s nothing?” She rattled the cups and saucers a little restlessly, and Hal, with growing interest, waited for her to go on.