speaks to me, unless spoken to by me. You understand!"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Susan timidly, and obeyed the finger
which pointed to the door. Miss Loach listened to the girl's
footsteps on the stairs, and sat down when she heard the front
door close. But she was up again almost in a moment and
pacing the room. Apparently the conversation with Susan Grant
afforded her food for reflection. And not very palatable food
either, judging from her expression.

The newly-engaged servant returned that same afternoon to the
suburban station, which tapped the district of Rexton. A
trunk, a bandbox and a bag formed her humble belongings, and
she arranged with a porter that these should be wheeled in a
barrow to Rose Cottage, as Miss Loach's abode was primly
called. Having come to terms, Susan left the station and set
out to walk to the place. Apart from the fact that she saved
a cab fare, she wished to obtain some idea of her
surroundings, and therefore did not hurry herself.

It was a bright June day with a warm green earth basking under
a blue and cloudless sky. But even the sunshine could not
render Rexton beautiful. It stretched out on all sides from
the station new and raw. The roads were finished, with
asphalt footpaths and stone curbing, the lamp-posts had
apparently only been lately erected, and lines of white fences
divided the roads from gardens yet in their infancy. Fronting
these were damp-looking red brick villas, belonging to small
clerks and petty tradesmen. Down one street was a row of
shops filled with the necessaries of civilization; and round