“Yes.  Miss Harriet Hunsden.”

“That’s her.  Lived with her pa, an old officer in the army, didn’t she?  Used to be over there in America?”

“Yes.  Did you know her?”

“Wa-al, no,” replied Mr. Parmalee, with a queer sidelong look at the lady; “I can’t say I did.  They told me down to the tavern all about it.  Handsome young lady, wasn’t she?  One of your tall-stepping, high-mettled sort?”

“Yes.”

“And her pa’s dead, and he left her nothing?  Was poor as a church-mouse, that old officer, wasn’t he?”

“Captain Hunsden had only his pay.”

“And they’ve gone off on a bridal tower?  Now when do you expect them back?”

“In a month.  Are you particularly desirous of seeing Sir Everard or Lady Kingsland?” asked Sybilla, suddenly and sharply.

“Well, yes,” he said, slowly, “I am.  I’m collecting photographic views of all your principal buildings over here, and I’m going to ask Sir Everard to let me take this place, inside and out.  These rooms are the most scrumptious concerns I’ve seen lately, and the Fifth Avenue Hotel is some pumpkins, too.  Oh, these are the pictures, are they?  What a jolly lot!”

Mr. Parmalee became immediately absorbed by the hosts of dead-and-gone Kingslands looking down from the oak-paneled walls.  Miss Silver fluently gave him names, and dates, and histories.

“Seems to me,” said Mr. Parmalee, “those old fellows didn’t die in their beds—­many of ’em.  What with battles, and duels, and high treason, and sich, they all came to unpleasant ends.  Where’s the present Kingsland’s?”

“Sir Everard’s portrait is in the library.”

“And her ladyship—­his wife?”

“We have no picture of Lady Kingsland as yet.”

Mr. Parmalee’s inscrutable face told nothing—­whether he was disappointed or not.  He followed Miss Silver all over the house, saw everything worth seeing, and took the “hull concern,” as he expressed it, as a matter of course.

“Should like to come again,” said Mr. Parmalee.  “A fellow couldn’t see all that’s worth seeing round here in less than a month.  Might I step up again to-morrow, Miss Silver?”

Miss Silver shook her head.

“I’m afraid not.  Thursday is visitors’ day, and I dare not infringe the rules.  You may come every Thursday while you stay, and meantime the gardeners will show you over the grounds whenever you desire.  How long do you remain, Mr. Parmalee?”

“That’s oncertain,” replied the artist, cautiously.  “Perhaps not long, perhaps longer.  I’m much obliged to you, miss, for all the bother I’ve made you.”

“Not at all,” said Sybilla, politely.  “I shall be happy at any time to give you any information in my power.”

“Thanky.  Good-evening.”

The tall American swung off with long strides.  The young lady watched him out of sight.

“There is more in this than meets the eye,” she thought.  “That man knows something of Harriet—­Lady Kingsland.  I’ll cultivate him for my lady’s sake.”