I hadn’t fancied Mrs. Brympton was a lady to have many visitors, and somehow the words cheered me.  I followed the house-maid upstairs, and saw, through a door on the upper landing, that the main part of the house seemed well-furnished, with dark panelling and a number of old portraits.  Another flight of stairs led us up to the servants’ wing.  It was almost dark now, and the house-maid excused herself for not having brought a light.  “But there’s matches in your room,” she said, “and if you go careful you’ll be all right.  Mind the step at the end of the passage.  Your room is just beyond.”

I looked ahead as she spoke, and half-way down the passage, I saw a woman standing.  She drew back into a doorway as we passed, and the house-maid didn’t appear to notice her.  She was a thin woman with a white face, and a darkish stuff gown and apron.  I took her for the housekeeper and thought it odd that she didn’t speak, but just gave me a long look as she went by.  My room opened into a square hall at the end of the passage.  Facing my door was another which stood open:  the house-maid exclaimed when she saw it.

“There—­Mrs. Blinder’s left that door open again!” said she, closing it.

“Is Mrs. Blinder the housekeeper?”

“There’s no housekeeper:  Mrs. Blinder’s the cook.”

“And is that her room?”

“Laws, no,” said the house-maid, cross-like.  “That’s nobody’s room. 
It’s empty, I mean, and the door hadn’t ought to be open.  Mrs.
Brympton wants it kept locked.”

She opened my door and led me into a neat room, nicely furnished, with a picture or two on the walls; and having lit a candle she took leave, telling me that the servants’-hall tea was at six, and that Mrs. Brympton would see me afterward.

I found them a pleasant-spoken set in the servants’ hall, and by what they let fall I gathered that, as Mrs. Railton had said, Mrs. Brympton was the kindest of ladies; but I didn’t take much notice of their talk, for I was watching to see the pale woman in the dark gown come in.  She didn’t show herself, however, and I wondered if she ate apart; but if she wasn’t the housekeeper, why should she?  Suddenly it struck me that she might be a trained nurse, and in that case her meals would of course be served in her room.  If Mrs. Brympton was an invalid it was likely enough she had a nurse.  The idea annoyed me, I own, for they’re not always the easiest to get on with, and if I’d known, I shouldn’t have taken the place.  But there I was, and there was no use pulling a long face over it; and not being one to ask questions, I waited to see what would turn up.

When tea was over, the house-maid said to the footman:  “Has Mr. Ranford gone?” and when he said yes, she told me to come up with her to Mrs. Brympton.

Mrs. Brympton was lying down in her bedroom.  Her lounge stood near the fire and beside it was a shaded lamp.  She was a delicate-looking lady, but when she smiled I felt there was nothing I wouldn’t do for her.  She spoke very pleasantly, in a low voice, asking me my name and age and so on, and if I had everything I wanted, and if I wasn’t afraid of feeling lonely in the country.