“Well,” went on the questioner, “art struck with a syncope that thou dost nothing but gape and stare at me?”

“I beg your pardon,” faltered the girl.  “I recognised—­ that is—­I mean, ’t was thy painting that—­”

“Malapert!” shrieked the woman.  “How dare you say I paint!  Dost have the vanity to think thou ’rt the only one with a red and white skin?”

“Oh, indeed, madam,” gasped Janice, “I alluded not to thy painting and powdering, but to the miniature that—­”

“Sir William,” screamed the dame, too furious even to heed the attempted explanation, “how can you stand there and hear this hussy thus insult me?”

“Then in Heaven’s name get back to the room from which you should ne’er have come,” muttered Howe, crossly.

“And leave you to the tete-a-tete you wish with this bold minx.”

“Ay, leave me to learn why Miss Meredith honours me with this visit.”

“You need not my absence, if that is all you wish to know.  ’T would be highly wrong to leave a miss, however artful, unmatronised.  Here I stay till I see cause to change my mind.”

Sir William said something below his breath with a manner suggestive of an oath, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to Janice.  “Old friends are not to be controlled, Miss Meredith,” he said, “and since we are to have a third for our interview, let me make you known to each other.  Mrs. Loring, Miss Meredith.”

“I pray you, madam, to believe,” entreated Janice, even as she made her curtsey, “that you entirely misinterpreted—­”

“I care not what you meant,” broke in Mrs. Loring, without the pretence of returning the obeisance.  “Say your say to Sir William, and be gone.”

“Damn you, Jane!” swore the general, bursting into a rage.  “If you cannot behave yourself I will call in the servants and have you put from the room.  Please be seated, Miss Meredith, and tell me in what manner I can serve you.”

“I came, Sir William, to beg that you would give my father some position by which he could earn a living.  We are totally without money, and getting daily deeper in debt.”

“Your wish is a command,” replied Sir William, gallantly, “but are you sure ’t is best?  Remember that the moment your father takes position from me he commits himself far more in the cause than he has hitherto, and the rebels are making it plain they intend to punish with the utmost severity all who take sides with us.”

“But even that is better than—­than—­than living on charity,” exclaimed Janice.  “I assure you that anything is better—­”

“Enough!” declared the general, as the girl hesitated.  “Your father shall be gazetted one of the wardens of abandoned property at once.  ’T will give him a salary and fees as well.”

“Ah, Sir William, how can I ever thank you enough?” murmured the girl, feeling, indeed, as if an end had come to her troubles.  She made a deep curtsey to Mrs. Loring, a second to the general, and then took the hand he offered her to the front door.  “I beg, Sir William,” she said at parting, “that you will assure Mrs. Loring that I really did not—­”