It was about three o'clock, and feeling her fingers quite stiff with
cold, she determined to go quietly down to the drawing-room in the hope
of finding a fire lighted there so as to warm her hands. Miss Starbrow
had not returned, and the house was very still, and after standing a few
moments on the landing, anxious not to rouse the maid and draw a fresh
volley of abuse on herself, she went softly down the stairs, and opened
the drawing-room door. For a moment or two she stood motionless, and then
muttering some incoherent apology turned and fled back to her room. For
there, very much at his ease, sat Captain Horton, with Rosie on his
knees, her arms about his neck, and her lips either touching his or in
very close proximity to them.

Rosie slipped from her seat, and the Captain stood up, but the intruder
had seen and gone, and their movements were too late.

"The spy! the cat!" snapped Rosie, grown suddenly pale with anger and
apprehension.

"It's very fine to abuse the girl," said the Captain; "but it was all
through your infernal carelessness. Why didn't you lock the door?"

"Oh, you're going to blame me! That's like a man. Perhaps you're in love
with the cat. I s'pose you think she's pretty."

"I'd like to twist her neck, and yours too, for a fool. If any trouble
comes you will be to blame."

"Say what you like, I don't care. There'll be trouble enough, you may be
sure."