But suddenly he sprang from his chair.  There was the sound of steps, of several steps, outside upon the gravel path.  Then a key clicked, and a burst of cold air told them that the door was open.

‘It’s agin’ the law for me to enter,’ said a gruff voice.

‘I tell you she’s very strong and violent,’ said a second voice, which Frank recognised as that of Mrs. Watson.  ’She chased the maid out of the house, and I can do nothing with her.’

‘Very sorry, mum, but it’s clean agin’ the law of England.  Give me a warrant, and in I come.  If you will bring her to the doorstep, I will be answerable for her removal.’

‘She’s in the dining-room.  I can see the lights,’ said Mrs. Watson; and then, ’Good Lord, Mr. Crosse, what a fright you gave me!  Oh dear me, that you should have come when I was out, and I not expecting you for another two days yet.  Well, now, I shall never forgive myself for this.’

But all the mistakes and misfortunes were very quickly explained.  The telegram was the root of the evil.  And then the new cook had proved to be a violent, intermittent drunkard.  She had chased the other maid out of the house, and then, while Mrs. Watson rushed for the police, she had drunk herself into the stupor in which she had been found.  But now, in the nick of time, the station cab came up with the luggage, and so the still placidly slumbering culprit was carried out to it, and sent off in the charge of the policeman.  Such was the first entry of Mr. and Mrs. Crosse into their home at The Lindens.

CHAPTER IX—­LAYING A COURSE

Frank Crosse was a methodical young man—­his enemies might sometimes have called him pedantic,—­and he loved to reduce his life to rule and order.  It was one of his peculiarities.  But how about this new life into which he was entering?  It took two to draw up the rules for that.  The little two-oared craft who put out upon that voyage have to lay their own course, each for itself; and all round them, as they go, they see the floating timbers and broken keels of other little boats, which had once started out full of hope and confidence.  There are currents and eddies, low sand-banks and sunken reefs, and happy the crews who see them ahead, and trim their course to avoid them.  Frank brooded over it all.  He had seen something of life, for his years.  He was observant and reflective.  He had watched his friends who were happy, and he had watched his friends who were not.  And now, as a result of all this wise cogitation, he sat down at a table one evening, with a solemn face, and a sheet of foolscap.

‘Now, Maude,’ said he, ‘I want to have a serious talk.’

Maude looked up in surprise from the linen which she was marking.

‘Oh dear!’ she cried.

‘Why “oh dear"?’

‘There’s something wrong?’

‘Nothing in the world.’