She waited, watching him tenderly until the door was closed. Then she covered her face with her hands and a sob burst from her lips. But the next moment she tore her hands away and looked wildly about the room. She ran to the writing-table and scribbled a note; she thrust it into an envelope and gummed the flap securely down. Then she rang the bell and waited impatiently with a leaping heart until Hubbard came to the door. "Did you ring, madam?" he asked. "Yes. Has Mr. Thresk arrived yet?" She tried to control her face, to speak in a careless and indifferent voice, but she was giddy and the room whirled before her eyes. "Yes, madam," the butler answered; and it seemed to Stella Ballantyne that once more she stood in the dock and heard the verdict spoken. Only this time it had gone against her. That queer old shuffling butler became a figure of doom, his thin and piping voice uttered her condemnation. For here without her knowledge was Henry Thresk and she was bidden to meet him with the Pettifers for witnesses. But it was Henry Thresk who had saved her before. She clung to that fact now. "Mr. Thresk arrived a few minutes ago." Just before old Hazlewood had come forward out of the house to welcome her! No wonder he was in such high spirits! Very likely all that great show of kindliness and welcome was made only to keep her in the garden for a few necessary moments. "Where is Mr. Thresk now?" she asked. "In his room, madam." "You are quite sure?" "Quite." "Will you take this note to him, Hubbard?" and she held it out to the butler. "Certainly, madam." "Will you take it at once? Give it into his hands, please."