stronger, and he vehemently resented the disturbance. He had no wish to
be troubled by any woman, and for this woman, judging her on her
behaviour, he felt even a little more contempt than the store which he
had for all her sex. It was cursedly impertinent in her to be such a joy
to the blood. She stood there, her eyes level with his eyes, and dared to
look as strong as he--slighter to be sure, but not too slight for a
woman, and delectably deep bosomed. There was life and laughter in that
calm Greek face, and the vivid, delicate colour of it maddened him. The
great crown of black hair was just what her brow needed for its royalty.
He could find no fault in the irksome wench. Even her dress, dark grey as
her eyes, perfectly became her, perfectly pleased in its generous
modesty. And she knew of her power too. There was a mocking confidence in
every line of her.

"But who is this, Lady Waverton?" she was saying again.

Lady Waverton tried to draw her on. "'Tis but Geoffrey's new factotum."

"My good friend, Harry Boyce, Alison," said Geoffrey with a patronly hand
on Harry's shoulder.

Harry made his bow.

"Faith, sir, we have met before," she smiled.

"No, ma'am," Harry bowed again. "I have never had an honour, which, sure,
I could not forget."

Her brow wrinkled. Lady Waverton swept her on, and Harry in the rear had
the pleasure of hearing Lady Waverton say: "A poor, vulgar wretch, my