ticking of the clock: "Within three weeks--within three weeks." "Who
is coming to-night, my dear?"

He took the cup of tea from her, and sat down with an old man's
deliberation, which springs less from wisdom and the fullness of
thought that from respect to rheumatism.

The iteration of that refrain, "Within three weeks," made him forget
everything, even the trouble of his granddaughter's mind.

"Oh, grandfather, you cannot have forgotten!"

She spoke with the least possible touch of irritation, because she had
been thinking of this thing for a week past, day and night, and it was
a thing of such stupendous interest to her, that it seemed impossible
that anyone who knew of it could forget what was coming.

"No, no." The old man was stimulated into immediate recollection by
the disappointment in her eyes. "No, no, my dear, I have not
forgotten. Your pupil is coming. Mr. Arbuthnot is coming. But, Iris,
child, don't let that worry you. I will see him for you, if you like."

"No; I must see him myself. You see, dear, there is the awful
deception. Oh, how shall I tell him?"

"No deception at all," he said stoutly. "You advertised in your own
initials. He never asked if the initials belonged to a man or to a
woman. The other pupils do not know. Why should this one? What does it
matter to him if you have done the work for which he engaged your
services?"