She shook herself free from her apprehensions and followed Dick into the drawing-room, where the kettle was boiling and the tea-service spread out.  Stella went to the table and opened the little mahogany caddy.

“How many are coming, Dick?” she asked.

“The Pettifers.”

“My enemies,” said Stella, laughing lightly.

“And you and my father and myself.”

“Five altogether,” said Stella.  She began to measure out the tea into the tea-pot but stopped suddenly in the middle of her work.

“But there are six cups,” she said.  She counted them again to make sure, and at once her fears were reawakened.  She turned to Dick, her face quite pale and her big eyes dark with forebodings.  So little now was needed to disquiet her.  “Who is the sixth?”

Dick came closer to her and put his arm about her waist.

“I don’t know,” he said gently; “but what can it matter to us, Stella?  Think, my dear!”

“No, of course,” she replied, “it can’t make any difference,” and she dipped her teaspoon once more into the caddy.  “But it’s a little curious, isn’t it?—­that your father didn’t mention to you that there was another guest?”

“Oh, wait a moment,” said Dick.  “He did tell me there would be some visitor here to-day but I forgot all about it.  He told me at luncheon.  There’s a man from London coming down to have a look at his miniatures.”

“His miniatures?” Stella was pouring the hot water into the tea-pot.  She replaced the kettle on its stand and shut the tea-caddy.  “And Mr. Hazlewood didn’t tell you the man’s name,” she said.

“I didn’t ask him,” answered Dick.  “He often has collectors down.”

“I see.”  Her head was bent over the tea-table; she was busy with her brew of tea.  “And I was specially asked to come this afternoon.  I had a note this morning to remind me.”  She looked at the clock.  “Dick, if we are to see that house this afternoon you had better change now before the visitors come.”

“That’s true.  I will.”

Dick started towards the door, and he heard Stella come swiftly after him.  He turned.  There was so much trouble in her face.  He caught her in his arms.

“Dick,” she whispered, “look at me.  Kiss me!  Yes, I am sure of you,” and she clung to him.  Dick Hazlewood laughed.

“I think we ought to be fairly happy in that house,” and she let him go with a smile, repeating her own words, “Anywhere, Dick, anywhere on earth.”

She waited, watching him tenderly until the door was closed.  Then she covered her face with her hands and a sob burst from her lips.  But the next moment she tore her hands away and looked wildly about the room.  She ran to the writing-table and scribbled a note; she thrust it into an envelope and gummed the flap securely down.  Then she rang the bell and waited impatiently with a leaping heart until Hubbard came to the door.

“Did you ring, madam?” he asked.