“Why, Tamsin, girl, what’s amiss that you don’t spake?” asked Peter; and then his amazement got the better of his tact, as he added in a stage whisper, “‘Tes on’y to change rooms.  Paul an’ me can aisy sleep down here afore the fire; an’ us on’y offered your room as bein’ more genteel—­”

“I assure you,” broke in Mr. Fogo, “that I am quite recovered of my chill, thanks to your kindness, and would rather return—­much rather:  though I thank you all the same.”  He spoke to the Twins, but kept his eyes on Tamsin.

“No kindness at all,” muttered Peter.  His face fell, and he, too, looked at the girl.

Finding their eyes upon her, she was compelled to speak.

“Mr. Fogo wudn’ care for the likes o’ what we cou’d offer him,” she said.  Then, seeing the pain on the men’s faces, she added with an effort to be gracious, “But ef he can put up wi’ us, he knows he shall be made welcome.”

She did not look up, and her voice, in which the peculiar sing-song of Trojan intonation was intentionally emphasised, sounded so strangely that still greater amazement fell upon the Twins.

“Why, Tamsin, I niver knawed ‘ee i’ this mood afore,” stammered Paul.

“I assure you,” interposed Mr. Fogo, “that I value your hospitality more than I can say, and shall not forget it.  But it would be absurd to accept it when I am so near home.  If one of you would consent to row me down to Kit’s House, it would be the exact kindness I should prefer.”

The Twins assented, though not without regret at his refusal to accept more.  Paul agreed to row him down, and the two started in the early twilight.  As he shook Peter’s hand, Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin.

“Good-night,” he said.

“Good-night, sir.”

She did not offer to shake hands; she scarcely even looked up, but stood there before the chimney-place, with the fire-light outlining her form and throwing into deep shadow the side of her face that was towards him.  One arm was thrown up to grasp the mantelshelf, and against this her head rested.  The other hung listlessly at her side.  And this was the picture Mr. Fogo carried out into the grey evening.

As the door closed upon him, Peter sank into the stiff-backed chair beside the hearth with a puzzled sigh.

“Why, Tamsin,” he said, as he slowly drew out his pipe and filled it, “what ailed ’ee, girl, to behave like that?”

Looking up, he saw a tear, and then a second, drop brightly on the hearth-stone.

“Little maid!”

Before he could say more she had stepped to him, and, sitting on the chair-arm, had flung her arms around his neck and drawn his head towards her, that he might not look into her face.

“I hate him,” she sobbed—­“I hate him!  I wish I had never seen him.  He despises us, and—­and I was so happy before he came.”

The Twin set down his pipe upon his knee, and stared into the fire.