“Ah, yes, of course.” He laughed. I motioned to the footman to clear out. “You don’t seem to care for that job, Saunders,” his lordship resumed, quizzing me. “Surely Berry is a charming companion. In your place I should regard it as excellent fun. But I have often told you that you have no sense of humour.” “Not all men laugh at the same jokes, my lord,” I observed. As a matter of fact, in earlier and wilder days, his lordship had sometimes thrown a book or a boot at me for smiling too openly in the wrong place. The conversation might have continued further, for his lordship would often talk with me, but at that moment Susan Berry appeared with the bag containing the case in which were the emeralds. Lady Trent’s own maid was with her, and the two stood talking for an instant at the foot of the stairs, while Lady Trent’s maid locked the bag and handed the key to Berry. Heaven knows how long that simple business would have occupied had not the voice of my lady resounded from the first floor, somewhat excitedly calling for her maid, who vanished with a hurried good-night. His lordship had already departed from the hall. “May I relieve you of the bag, Miss Berry?” I asked. “Thank you, Mr. Saunders,” she replied, “but the Marchioness prefers that I myself should carry it.” That little dialogue passed between us every time the emeralds had to be returned. We started on our short walk, Miss Berry and I, proceeding towards the main avenue which runs through the centre of the Square east and west. It was a beautiful moonlight night. Talking of moonlight nights, I may as well make my confession at once. The fact is that Miss Berry had indeed a certain influence over me. In her presence I was always conscious of feeling a pleasurable elation--an excitement, a perturbation, which another man might have guessed to be the beginning of love. I, however, knew that it was not love. It was merely a fancy. It only affected me when I was in her company. When she was absent I could regard her in my mind’s eye as she actually was--namely, a somewhat designing young woman, with dark eyes and too much will of her own. Nevertheless, she had, as I say, a certain influence over me, and I have already remarked that it was a moonlight night. Need I say more? In spite of what I had implied to Lord Trent I did enjoy the walk with Susan Berry. Susan Berry took care that I should. She laid herself out to fascinate me; turning her brunette face up to mine with an air of deference, and flashing upon me the glance of those dark lustrous eyes. She started by sympathising with me in the matter of the butler. This was, I now recognise, very clever of her, for the butler has always been a sore point with me. I began to think (be good enough to remember the moonlight and the trees) that life with Susan Berry might have its advantages.