Luke's a sight best off without her."

Rachel Frost proceeded indoors. The door of the steward's room stood
open, and she turned into it, fancying it was empty. Down on a chair sat
she, a marked change coming over her air and manner. Her bright colour
had faded, her hands hung down listless; and there was an expression on
her face of care, of perplexity. Suddenly she lifted her hands and
struck her temples, with a gesture that looked very like despair.

"What ails you, Rachel?"

The question came from Frederick Massingbird, who had been standing at
the window behind the high desk, unobserved by Rachel. Violently
startled, she sprang up from her seat, her face a glowing crimson,
muttering some disjointed words, to the effect that she did not know
anybody was there.

"What were you and Roy discussing so eagerly in the yard?" continued
Frederick Massingbird. But the words had scarcely escaped his lips, when
the housekeeper, Mrs. Tynn, entered the room. She had a mottled face and
mottled arms, her sleeves just now being turned up to the elbow.

"It was nothing particular, Mr. Frederick," replied Rachel.

"Roy is gone, is he not?" he continued to Rachel.

"Yes, sir."

"Rachel," interposed the housekeeper, "are those things not ready yet,
in the laundry?"