"I should recommend Miss Bull," replied Madame very sweetly, but with a venomous note in her voice. She might as well have thought to rouse the dead, for Miss Bull paid not the slightest attention. In many ways the self-composed old maid was a match for Madame. At this moment Train entered, and after him came a tall young man, fair-haired and stalwart. He was handsome, but seemed to be ill at ease, and pulled his yellow mustache nervously as Train led him to the throne. "This is my friend," said Leonard, presenting him. "He just managed to get here, for the fog is so thick----" Here he was interrupted. "Madame!" cried Mrs. Taine, "what is the matter? Mr. Harmer, the water--wine--quick." There was need of it. Mrs. Jersey had fallen back on the throne with a white face and twitching lips. She appeared as though about to faint, but restraining herself with a powerful effort she waved her hand to intimate that she needed nothing. At the same time her eyes were fastened, not so much on the face of the stranger as on a piece of yellow holly he wore in his coat. "I am perfectly well," said Mrs. Jersey. "This is only one of my turns. I am glad to see you, Mr.----" "Brendon," said the stranger, who seemed astonished at this reception. "George Brendan," interpolated Train, who was alive with curiosity; "have you seen him before, Madame?" Mrs. Jersey laughed artificially. "Certainly not," she replied calmly, "and yours is not a face I should forget, Mr.----Brendon." She uttered the name with a certain amount of hesitation as though she was not sure it was the right one. George nodded. "My name is Brendan," he said rather unnecessarily, and Mrs. Jersey nodded in her most gracious manner. "I bid you welcome sir; any friend of Mr. Train's is also my friend. If there is anything to amuse you here?" She waved her hand. "We are simple people. Fortune-telling--a little music and the company of my guests. Mrs. Taine, Mr. Harmer!" She introduced them, but every now and then her eyes were on the yellow holly. Brendan remarked it. "You are noticing my flower, Mrs. Jersey," he said. "It is rather rare." "Most extraordinary," replied Mrs. Jersey, coolly. "I have seen holly with red berries before, but this yellow----" "There was a great bush of it in my father's garden," said Mr. Harmer, "but I have not seen any for years." "Perhaps you would like it, Mrs. Jersey," said Brendan, taking it from his coat. She hastily waved her hand. "No! no! I am too old for flowers. Keep it, Mr. Brendan. It suits better with your youth," she looked at his face keenly. "I have seen a face like yours before." Brendan laughed. "I am of a commonplace type, I fear," he said. "No; not so very common. Fair hair and dark eyes do not usually go together. Perhaps I have met your father?" "Perhaps," replied George, phlegmatically. "Or your mother," persisted Mrs. Jersey. "I dare say!" Then he turned the conversation. "What a delightful old house you have here!"