“Roy,” said Frederick Massingbird, “Mr. Verner says it is to be left until to-morrow morning.  Mr. Lionel will see about it then.  He is out at present.”

“And let the mob have it all their own way for to-night?” returned Roy angrily.  “They be in a state of mutiny, they be; a-saying everything as they can lay their tongues to.”

“Let them say it,” responded Frederick Massingbird.  “Leave them alone, and they’ll disperse quietly enough.  I shall not go in to Mr. Verner again, Roy.  I caught it now for disturbing him.  You must let it rest until you can see Mr. Lionel.”

The bailiff went off, growling.  He would have liked to receive carte-blanche for dealing with the mob—­as he was pleased to term them—­between whom and himself there was no love lost.  As he was crossing a paved yard at the back of the house, some one came hastily out of the laundry in the detached premises to the side, and crossed his path.

A very beautiful girl.  Her features were delicate, her complexion was fair as alabaster, and a bright colour mantled in her cheeks.  But for the modest cap upon her head, a stranger might have been puzzled to guess at her condition in life.  She looked gentle and refined as any lady, and her manners and speech would not have destroyed the illusion.  She may be called a protegee of the house, as will be explained presently; but she acted as maid to Mrs. Verner.  The bright colour deepened to a glowing one when she saw the bailiff.

He put out his hand and stopped her.  “Well, Rachel, how are you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” she answered, endeavouring to pass on.  But he would not suffer it.

“I say, I want to come to the bottom of this business between you and Luke,” he said, lowering his voice.  “What’s the rights of it?”

“Between me and Luke?” she repeated, turning upon the bailiff an eye that had some scorn in it, and stopping now of her own accord.  “There is no business whatever between me and Luke.  There never has been.  What do you mean?”

“Chut!” cried the bailiff.  “Don’t I know that he has followed your steps everywhere like a shadder; that he has been ready to kiss the very ground you trod on?  And right mad I have been with him for it.  You can’t deny that he has been after you, wanting you to be his wife.”

“I do not wish to deny it,” she replied.  “You and the whole world are quite welcome to know all that has passed between me and Luke.  He asked to be allowed to come here to see me—­to ‘court’ me, he phrased it—­which I distinctly declined.  Then he took to following me about.  He did not molest me, he was not rude—­I do not wish to make it out worse than it was—­but it is not pleasant, Mr. Roy, to be followed whenever you may take a walk.  Especially by one you dislike.”

“What is there to dislike in Luke?” demanded the bailiff.

“Perhaps I ought to have said by one you do not like,” she resumed.  “To like Luke, in the way he wished, was impossible for me, and I told him so from the first.  When I found that he dodged my steps, I spoke to him again, and threatened that I should acquaint Mr. Verner.  I told him, once for all, that I could not like him, that I never would have him; and since then he has kept his distance.  That is all that has ever passed between me and Luke.”