though she was always most respectful. But I felt it just the same. I got the idea, and still have it, that she looked on us as intruders. I can’t for the life of me say why such a thing should be, but there you are, and I know it seems ridiculous. But Beech Lodge is too far from anywhere for its occupants to be over particular about trifles, and I put the thing out of my head—or tried to, anyway.”

“That’s curious,” said Edith reflectively; “she seems very respectful.”

“She’s the soul of respect, but I’m not sure what it’s for. Also she was too reserved for me. And she appeared to be afraid she’d say too much and let something slip she didn’t mean to. You asked about her references, but as a matter of fact I hadn’t the cheek to inquire for any, and took it for granted that she went with the house, whoever took it. I didn’t even write to Mrs. Millicent.”

“Who is Mrs. Millicent?”

Edith put the question impulsively, and Mrs. Thursby’s eyes sought the portrait that hung just above her head. She did not answer at once but seemed to be debating how much she might say. When finally she did speak, it was with a reluctance that was gradually overcome by the interest of her subject.

“We bought the place from her but only saw the agent. Mrs. Millicent herself was ill at the time and on the south coast with her daughter. Mr. Millicent had just died here, very suddenly, and she did not want to come back. She’s never been back since.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Edith slowly.

“Yes, and it happened in this very room.” Mrs. Thursby spoke more confidently now, warming a little, as though it was good to remember that it was now some one else’s room. “Mr. Millicent was found at that very desk and, I’m told, found by Perkins, who was devoted to him. Then his wife put the house on the market at once.”

Edith took a long breath. “I wish I’d known that,” she said thoughtfully, “but I’m glad somehow that I’ve heard it at once.”

“Would it have made any difference? I thought every one hereabouts knew it. Didn’t Perkins say anything about it to your brother?”

“Nothing whatever, and, Mrs. Thursby, please, I don’t want him to know just yet. I hope your husband won’t say anything. Jack is so sensitive and imaginative that it would divert him completely from his work, which at the present is very important.”

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