Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and then lowered them modestly to the ground.  “That is true,” she said, quietly.

“And I would sooner be sitting here than any-where,” pursued Catesby.  “That is,” he added, rising, and taking a chair by her side, “except here.”

Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and made as though to rise.  Then she sat still and took a gentle peep at Mr. Catesby from the corner of her eye.

“I hope that you are not sorry that I am here?” said that gentleman.

Miss Truefitt hesitated.  “No,” she said, at last.”

“Are you—­are you glad?” asked the modest Richard.

Miss Truefitt averted her eyes altogether.  “Yes,” she said, faintly.

A strange feeling of solemnity came over the triumphant Richard.  He took the hand nearest to him and pressed it gently.

“I—­I can hardly believe in my good luck,” he murmured.

“Good luck?” said Prudence, innocently.

“Isn’t it good luck to hear you say that you are glad I’m here?” said Catesby.

“You’re the best judge of that,” said the girl, withdrawing her hand.  “It doesn’t seem to me much to be pleased about.”

Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and was about to address another tender remark to her when she was overcome by a slight fit of coughing.  At the same moment he started at the sound of a shuffling footstep in the passage.  Somebody tapped at the door.

“Yes?” said Prudence.

“Can’t find the knife-powder, miss,” said a harsh voice.  The door was pushed open and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about forty.  Her red arms were bare to the elbow, and she betrayed several evidences of a long and arduous day’s charing.

“It’s in the cupboard,” said Prudence.  “Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Porter?”

Mrs. Porter made no reply.  Her mouth was wide open and she was gazing with starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby.

“Joe!” she said, in a hoarse whisper.  “Joe!”

Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling silence.  Miss Truefitt, with an air of great surprise, glanced from one to the other.

“Joe!” said Mrs. Porter again.  “Ain’t you goin’ to speak to me?”

Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her in speechless astonishment.  She skipped clumsily round the table and stood before him with her hands clasped.

“Where ’ave you been all this long time?” she demanded, in a higher key.

“You—­you’ve made a mistake,” said the bewildered Richard.

“Mistake?” wailed Mrs. Porter.  “Mistake!  Oh, where’s your ’art?”

Before he could get out of her way she flung her arms round the horrified young man’s neck and em-braced him copiously.  Over her bony left shoulder the frantic Richard met the ecstatic gaze of Miss Truefitt, and, in a flash, he realised the trap into which he had fallen.

“Mrs. Porter!” said Prudence.