"That shows you have a good heart," said George, alluding not to her sorrows, but to her actions toward Margery. "Well, Miss Bull--" he rose--"you have told me what I want to know. I hope to make use of it. In return for your confidence I should tell you----" "Tell me nothing," cried the old maid, quickly. "I don't wish to hear your secrets. The less said the soonest mended. When Miss Ward becomes Mrs. Brendon," she added with a dry smile, "you can send me a piece of wedding cake." "She will not become Mrs. Brendon," said George, shaking his head. "I will be frank with you, Miss Bull. My name is not Brendon." She rose from her seat and looked at him steadily, perusing every line in his face. "I thought I had seen some one like you before. I see now--now--don't tell me your name is--is--but it's impossible." "My real name is George Vane. I am Lord Derrington's grandson." The little woman looked at him wildly for a moment and then quietly slipped to the ground. She had fainted in real earnest, and George rang the bell for assistance. Margery, who had evidently been lurking outside, rushed in. When she saw her friend extended pale and lifeless on the carpet she turned on George with a furious face. "What have you been doing to the poor darling?" she demanded, "you--you." She raised her hand to strike, but Brendon caught her by the wrist. "I have been doing nothing," he declared, quelling the rage of the she-bear by the power of his glance. "Miss Bull fainted unexpectedly. Thank goodness here is some one." It was one of the servants, but Margery waved her off. "No one but me--no one but me!" she cried, and took the slender form of her friend up in her arms. "Wait here," she added to George. "I'll be down soon." When she left the room George looked at the servant, who was a quiet, respectable old woman. "Is that girl mad?" he asked. "She's queer, poor soul, sir," replied the woman, "and entirely devoted to Miss Bull. And well she may be for it is Miss Bull who manages the house. The girl is a natural, sir." "She looks like it," replied George, sitting down. "You can go. I shall wait here until Miss Bull recovers." "Yes, sir," replied the woman, and departed. But as she closed the door George heard her muttering something to herself about the danger of Margery's claws scratching him.