the post that morning, besides containing a telegram from vienna apprising me of the immediate embarkation of four irreproachable angels in the guise of servants, brought a letter from my friends the hazzards, inquiring when my castle would be in shape to receive and discharge house parties without subjecting them to an intermediate season of peril from drafts, leaky roofs, damp sheets and vampires.

they implored me to snatch them and one or two friends from the unbearable heat of the city, if only for a few days, appending the sad information that they were swiftly being reduced to grease spots. dear elsie added a postscript of unusual briefness and clarity in which she spelt grease with an e instead of an a, but managed to consign me to purgatory if i permitted her to become a spot no larger than the inky blot she naively deposited beside her signature, for all the world like the seal on a death warrant.

i sat down and looked about me in gloomy despair. no words can describe the scene, unless we devote a whole page to repeating the word "dismal." devastation always appears to be more complete of a morning i have observed in my years of experience. a plasterer's scaffolding that looks fairly nobby at sunset is a grim, unsightly skeleton at breakfast-time. a couple of joiners' horses, a matrix or two, a pile of shavings and some sawed-off blocks scattered over the floor produce a matutinal conception of chaos that hangs over one like a pall until his aesthetic sense is beaten into subjection by the hammers of a million demons in the guise of carpenters. morning in the midst of repairs is an awful thing! i looked, despaired and then dictated a letter to the hazzards, urging them to come at once with all their sweltering friends!

i needed some one to make me forget.

at eleven o'clock, poopendyke brought me a note from the chatelaine of the east wing. it had been dropped into the courtyard from one of the upper windows. the reading of it transformed me into a stern, relentless demon. she very calmly announced that she had a headache and couldn't think of being disturbed that day and probably not the next.

my mind was made up in an instant. i would not be put off by a headache,—which was doubtless assumed for the occasion,—and i would be master of my castle or know the reason why, etc.

in the courtyard i found a score or more of idle artisans, banished by the on-sweeping tourists and completely forgotten by me in the excitement of the hour. commanding them to fetch their files, saws, broad-axes and augurs, i led the way to the mighty doors that barred my entrance to the other side. utterly ignoring the supplications of conrad schmick and the ominous frowns of his two sons, we set about filing off the padlocks, and chiselling through the wooden panels. i stood over my toiling minions and i venture to say that they never worked harder or faster in their lives. by twelve o'clock we had the great doors open and swept on to the next obstruction.

at two o'clock the last door in the east ante-chamber gave way before our resolute advance and i stood victorious and dusty in the little recess at the top of the last stairway. beyond the twentieth century portieres of a thirteenth century doorway lay the goal we sought. i hesitated briefly before drawing them apart and taking the final plunge. as a matter of fact, i was beginning to feel ashamed of myself. suppose that she really had a headache! what an uncouth, pusillanimous brute i—

just then, even as my hand fell upon the curtains, they were snatched aside and i found myself staring into the vivid, uptilted face of the lady who had defied me and would continue to do so if my suddenly active perceptions counted for anything.

i saw nothing but the dark, indignant, imperious eyes. they fairly withered me.

in some haste, attended by the most disheartening nervousness, i tried to find my cap to remove it in the presence of royalty. unfortunately i was obliged to release the somewhat cumbersome crowbar i had been carrying about with me, and it dropped with a sullen thwack upon my toes. in moments of gravity i am always doing something like that. the pain was terrific, but i clutched at the forlorn hope that she might at least smile over my agony.

"i beg your pardon," i began, and then discovered that i was not wearing a cap. it was most disconcerting.

"so you would come," she said, very coldly and very levelly. i have a distinct recollection of shrinking. if you have ever tried to stand flatly upon a foot whose toes are crimped by an excruciating pain you may understand something of the added discomfiture that afflicted me.

"it—it was necessary, madam," i replied as best i could. "you defied me. i think you should have appreciated my position—my motives—er—my—"

she silenced me—luckily, heaven knows—with a curt exclamation.

"your position! it is intensely napoleonic," said she with fine irony. her gaze swept my horde of panting, wide-eyed house-breakers. "what a noble victory!"

it was quite time for me to assert myself. bowing very stiffly, i remarked:

"i regret exceedingly to have been forced to devastate my own property in such a trifling enterprise, madam. the physical loss is apparent,—you can see that for yourself,—but of course you have no means of estimating the mental destruction that has been going on for days and days. you have been hacking away at my poor, distracted brain so persistently that it really had to give way. in a measure, this should account for my present lapse of sanity. weak-mindedness is not a crime, but an affliction."

she did not smile.

"well, now that you are here, mr. smart, may i be so bold as to inquire what you are going to do about it?"

i reflected. "i think, if you don't mind, i'll come in and sit down. that was a deuce of a rap i got across the toes. i am sure to be a great deal more lenient and agreeable if i'm asked to come in and see you. incidentally, i thought i'd step up to inquire how your headache is getting on. better, i hope?"

she turned her face away. i suspected a smile.

"if you choose to bang your old castle to pieces, in order to satisfy a masculine curiosity, mr. smart, i have nothing more to say," she said, facing me again—still ominously, to my despair. confound it all, she was such a slim, helpless little thing—and all alone against a mob of burly ruffians! i could have kicked myself, but even that would have been an aimless enterprise in view of the fact that poopendyke or any of the others could have done it more accurately than i and perhaps with greater respect. "will you be good enough to send your—your army away, or do you prefer to have it on hand in case i should take it into my head to attack you?"

"take 'em away, mr. poopendyke," i commanded hurriedly. i didn't mind poopendyke hearing what she said, but it would be just like one of those beggars to understand english—and also to misunderstand it. "and take this beastly crowbar with you, too. it has served its purpose nobly."

poopendyke looked his disappointment, and i was compelled to repeat the order. as they crowded down the short, narrow stairway, i remarked old conrad and his two sons standing over against the wall, three very sinister figures. they remained motionless.

"i see, madam, that you do not dismiss your army," i said, blandly sarcastic.

"oh, you dear old conrad!" she cried, catching sight of the hitherto submerged schmicks. the three of them bobbed and scraped and grinned from ear to ear. there could be no mistaking the intensity of their joy. "don't look so sad, conrad. i know you are blameless. you poor old dear!"

i have never seen any one who looked less sad than conrad schmick. or could it be possible that he was crying instead of laughing? in either case i could not afford to have him doing it with such brazen discourtesy to me, so i rather peremptorily ordered him below.

"i will attend to you presently,—all of you," said i. they did not move. "do you hear me?" i snapped angrily. they looked stolidly at the slim young lady.

she smiled, rather proudly, i thought. "you may go, conrad. i shall not need you. max, will you fetch up another scuttle of coal?"

they took their orders from her! it even seemed to me that max moved swiftly, although it was doubtless a hallucination on my part, brought about by nervous excitement.

"by jove!" i said, looking after my trusty men-servants as they descended. "i like this! are they my servants or yours?"

"oh, i suppose they are yours, mr. smart," she said carelessly. "will you come in now, and make yourself quite at home?"

"perhaps i'd better wait for a day or two," said i, wavering. "your headache, you know. i can wait just as well as—"

"oh, no. since you've gone to all the trouble i suppose you ought to have something for your pains."

"pains?" i murmured, and i declare to heaven i limped as i followed her through the door into a tiny hall.

"you are a most unreasonable man," she said, throwing open a small door at the end of the hall. "i am terribly disappointed in you. you looked to be so nice and sensible and amiable."

"oh, i'm not such a nincompoop as you might suspect, madam," said i, testily, far from complimented. i dislike being called nice, and sometimes i think it a mistake to be sensible. a sensible person never gets anything out of life because he has to avoid so much of it.

"and now, mr. smart, will you be kind enough to explain this incomprehensible proceeding on your part?" she said, facing me sternly.

but i was dumb. i stood just inside the door of the most remarkable apartment it has ever been my good fortune to look upon. my senses reeled. was i awake? was this a part of the bleak, sinister, weather-racked castle in which i was striving so hard to find a comfortable corner?

"well?" she demanded relentlessly.

"by the lord harry," i began, finding my tongue only to lose it again. my bewilderment increased, and for an excellent reason.

the room was completely furnished, bedecked and rendered habitable by an hundred and one articles that were mysteriously missing from my side of the castle. rugs, tapestries, curtains of the rarest quality; chairs, couches, and cushions; tables, cabinets and chests that would have caused the eyes of the most conservative collector of antiques to bulge with—not wonder—but greed; stands, pedestals, brasses, bronzes, porcelains—but why enumerate? on the massive oaken centre table stood the priceless silver vase we had missed on the second day of our occupancy, and it was filled with fresh yellow roses. i sniffed. their fragrance filled the room.

and so complete had been the rifling of my rooms by the devoted vandals in their efforts to make this lady cosy and comfortable that they did not overlook a silver-framed photograph of my dear mother! her sweet face met my gaze as it swept the mantel-piece, beneath which a coal fire crackled merrily. i am not quite sure, but i think i repeated "by the lord harry" once if not twice before i caught myself up.

i tried to smile. "how—how cosy you are here," i said.

"you couldn't expect me to live in this awful place without some of the comforts and conveniences of life, mr. smart," she said defiantly.

"certainly not," i said, promptly. "i am sure that you will excuse me, however, if i gloat. i was afraid we had lost all these things. you've no idea how relieved i am to find them all safe and sound in my—in their proper place. i was beginning to distrust the schmicks. now i am convinced of their integrity."

"i suppose you mean to be sarcastic."

"sarcasm at any price, madam, would be worse than useless, i am sure."

crossing to the fireplace, i selected a lump of coal from the scuttle and examined it with great care. she watched me curiously.

"do you recognise it?" she asked.

"i do," said i, looking up. "it has been in our family for generations. my favourite chunk, believe me. still, i part with it cheerfully." thereupon i tossed it into the fire. "don't be shocked! i shan't miss it. we have coals to burn, madam!"

she looked at me soberly for a moment. there was something hurt and wistful in her dark eyes.

"of course, mr. smart, i shall pay you for everything—down to the smallest trifle—when the time comes for me to leave this place. i have kept strict account of—"

she turned away, with a beaten droop of the proud little head, and again i was shamed. never have i felt so grotesquely out of proportion with myself as at that moment. my stature seemed to increase from an even six feet to something like twelve, and my bulk became elephantine. she was so slender, so lissom, so weak, and i so gargantuan, so gorilla-like, so heavy-handed! and i had come gaily up to crush her! what a fine figure of a man i was!

she did not complete the sentence, but walked slowly toward the window. i had a faint glimpse of a dainty lace handkerchief fiercely clutched in a little hand.

by nature i am chivalrous, even gallant. you may have reason to doubt it, but it is quite true. as i've never had a chance to be chivalrous except in my dreams or my imagination, i made haste to seize this opportunity before it was too late. "madam," i said, with considerable feeling. "i have behaved like a downright rotter to-day. i do not know who you are, nor why you are here, but i assure you it is of no real consequence if you will but condescend to overlook my insufferable—"

she turned towards me. the wistful, appealing look still lingered in her eyes. the soft red nether lip seemed a bit tremulous.

"i am an intruder," she interrupted, smiling faintly. "you have every right to put me out of your—your home, mr. smart. i was a horrid pig to deprive you of all your nice comfortable chairs and—"

"i—i haven't missed them."

"don't you ever sit down?"

"i will sit down if you'll let me," said i, feeling that i wouldn't appear quite so gigantic if i was sitting.

"please do. the chairs all belong to you."

"i'm sorry you put it in that way. they are yours as long as you choose to—to occupy a furnished apartment here."

"i have been very selfish, and cattish, and inconsiderate, mr. smart. you see, i'm a spoilt child. i've always had my own way in everything. you must look upon me as a very horrid, sneaking, conspiring person, and i—i really think you ought to turn me out."

she came a few steps nearer. under the circumstances i could not sit down. so i stood towering above her, but somehow going through a process of physical and mental shrinkage the longer i remained confronting her.

suddenly it was revealed to me that she was the loveliest woman i had ever seen in all my life! how could i have been so slow in grasping this great, bewildering truth? the prettiest woman i had ever looked upon! of course i had known it from the first instant that i looked into her eyes, but i must have been existing in a state of stupefaction up to this illuminating moment.

i am afraid that i stared.

"turn you out?" i cried. "turn you out of this delightful room after you've had so much trouble getting it into shape? never!"

"oh, you don't know how i've imposed upon you!" she cried plaintively. "you don't know how i've robbed you, and bothered you—"

"yes, i do," said i promptly. "i know all about it. you've been stealing my coals, my milk, my ice, my potatoes, my servants, my sleep and "—here i gave a comprehensive sweep of my hand—"everything in sight. and you've made us walk on tip-toe to keep from waking the baby, and—" i stopped suddenly. "by the way, whose baby is it? not yours, i'm sure."

to my surprise her eyes filled with tears.

"yes. she is my baby, mr. smart."

my face fell. "oh!" said i, and got no further for a moment or two. "i—i—please don't tell me you are married!"

"what would you think of me if i were to tell you i'm not?" she cried indignantly.

"i beg your pardon," i stammered, blushing to the roots of my hair. "stupid ass!" i muttered.

crossing to the fireplace, she stood looking down into the coals for a long time, while i remained where i was, an awkward, gauche spectator, conscious of having put my clumsiest foot into my mouth every time i opened it and wondering whether i could now safely get it out again without further disaster.

her back was toward me. she was dressed in a dainty, pinkish house gown—or maybe it was light blue. at any rate it was a very pretty gown and she was wonderfully graceful in it. ordinarily in my fiction i am quite clever at describing gowns that do not exist; but when it comes to telling what a real woman is wearing, i am not only as vague as a savage, but painfully stupid about colors. still, i think it was pink. i recall the way her soft brown hair grew above the slender neck, and the lovely white skin; the smooth, delicate contour of her half-averted cheek and the firm little chin with the trembling red lips above it; the shapely back and shoulders and the graceful curves of her hips, suggestive of a secret perfection. she was taller than i had thought at first sight, or was it that i seemed to be getting smaller myself? a hasty bit of comparison placed her height at five feet six, using my own as something to go by. she couldn't have been a day over twenty-two. but she had a baby!

facing me once more she said: "if you will sit down, mr. smart, and be patient and generous with me, i shall try to explain everything. you have a right to demand it of me, and i shall feel more comfortable after it is done."

i drew up a chair beside the table and sat down. she sank gracefully into another, facing me. a delicate frown appeared on her brow.

"doubtless you are very much puzzled by my presence in this gloomy old castle. you have been asking yourself a thousand questions about me, and you have been shocked by my outrageous impositions upon your good nature. i confess i have been shockingly impudent and—"

"pardon me; you are the only sauce i've had for an excessively bad bargain."

"please do not interrupt me," she said coldly. "i am here, mr. smart, because it is the last place in the world where my husband would be likely to look for me."

"your husband? look for you?"

"yes. i shall be quite frank with you. my husband and i have separated. a provisional divorce was granted, however, just seven months ago. the final decree cannot be issued for one year."

"but why should you hide from him?"

"the—the court gave him the custody of our child during the probationary year. i—i have run away with her. they are looking for me everywhere. that is why i came here. do you understand?"

i was stunned. "then, i take it, the court granted him the divorce and not you," i said, experiencing a sudden chill about the heart. "you were deprived of the child, i see. dear me!"

"you are mistaken," she said, a flash in her eyes. "it was an austrian court. the count—my husband, i should say—is an austrian subject. his interests must be protected." she said this with a sneer on her pretty lips. "you see, my father, knowing him now for what he really is, has refused to pay over to him something like a million dollars, still due for the marriage settlement. the count contends that it is a just and legal debt and the court supports him to this extent: the child is to be his until the debt is cleared up, or something to that effect. i really don't understand the legal complications involved. perhaps it were better if i did."

"i see," said i, scornful in spite of myself. "one of those happy international marriages where a bride is thrown in for good measure with a couple of millions. won't we ever learn!"

"that's it precisely," she said, with the utmost calmness and candour. "american dollars and an american girl in exchange for a title, a lot of debts and a ruined life."

"and they always turn out just this way. what a lot of blithering fools we have in the land of the free and the home of the knave!"

"my father objected to the whole arrangement from the first, so you must not speak of him as a knave," she protested. "he doesn't like counts and such things."

"i don't see that it helps matters. i can hardly substitute the word 'brave' for the one i used," said i, trying to conceal my disgust.

"please don't misunderstand me, mr. smart," she said haughtily. "i am not asking for pity. i made my bed and i shall lie in it. the only thing i ask of you is—well, kindness."

she seemed to falter again, and once more i was at her feet, figuratively speaking.

"you are in distress, in dread of something, madam," i cried. "consider me your friend."

she shook her head ruefully. "you poor man! you don't know what you are in for, i fear. wait till i have told you everything. three weeks ago, i laid myself liable to imprisonment and heaven knows what else by abducting my little girl. that is really what it comes to—abduction. the court has ordered my arrest, and all sorts of police persons are searching high and low for me. now don't you see your peril? if they find me here, you will be in a dreadful predicament. you will be charged with criminal complicity, or whatever it is called, and—oh, it will be frightfully unpleasant for you, mr. smart."

my expression must have convicted me. she couldn't help seeing the dismay in my face. so she went on, quite humbly.

"of course you have but to act at once and all may be well for you. i—i will go if you—if you command me to—"

i struck my knee forcibly. "what do you take me for, madam? hang the consequences! if you feel that you are safe here—that is, comparatively safe,—stay!"

"it will be terrible if you get into trouble with the law," she murmured in distress. "i—i really don't know what might happen to you." still her eyes brightened. like all the rest of her ilk, she was selfish.

i tried to laugh, but it was a dismal failure. after all, wasn't it likely to prove a most unpleasant matter? i felt the chill moisture breaking out on my forehead.

"pray do not consider my position at all," i managed to say, with a resolute assumption of gallantry. "i—i shall be perfectly able to look out for myself,—that is, to explain everything if it should come to the worst." i could not help adding, however: "i certainly hope, however, that they don't get on to your trail and—" i stopped in confusion.

"and find me here?" she completed gloomily.

"and take the child away from you," i made haste to explain.

a fierce light flamed in her eyes. "i should—kill—some one before that could happen," she cried out, clenching her hands.

"i—i beg of you, madam, don't work yourself into a—a state," i implored, in considerable trepidation. "nothing like that can happen, believe me. i—"

"oh, what do you know about it?" she exclaimed, with most unnecessary vehemence, i thought. "he wants the child and—and—well, you can see why he wants her, can't you? he is making the most desperate efforts to recover her. max says the newspapers are full of the—the scandal. they are depicting me as a brainless, law-defying american without sense of love, honour or respect. i don't mind that, however. it is to be expected. they all describe the count as a long-suffering, honourable, dreadfully maltreated person, and are doing what they can to help him in the prosecution of the search. my mother, who is in paris, is being shadowed; my two big brothers are being watched; my lawyers in vienna are being trailed everywhere—oh, it is really a most dreadful thing. but—but i will not give her up! she is mine. he doesn't love her. he doesn't love me. he doesn't love anything in the world but himself and his cigarettes. i know, for i've paid for his cigarettes for nearly three years. he has actually ridiculed me in court circles, he has defamed me, snubbed me, humiliated me, cursed me. you cannot imagine what it has been like. once he struck me in—"

"struck you!" i cried.

"—in the presence of his sister and her husband. but i must not distress you with sordid details. suffice it to say, i turned at last like the proverbial worm. i applied for a divorce ten months ago. it was granted, provisionally as i say. he is a degenerate. he was unfaithful to me in every sense of the word. but in spite of all that, the court in granting me the separation, took occasion to placate national honour by giving him the child during the year, pending the final disposition of the case. of course, everything depends on father's attitude in respect to the money. you see what i mean? a month ago i heard from friends in vienna that he was shamefully neglecting our—my baby, so i took this awful, this perfectly bizarre way of getting her out of his hands. possession is nine points in the law, you see. i—'

"alas!" interrupted i, shaking my head. "there is more than one way to look at the law. i'm afraid you have got yourself into a serious—er—pickle."'

"i don't care," she said defiantly. "it is the law's fault for not prohibiting such marriages as ours. oh, i know i must seem awfully foolish and idiotic to you, but—but it's too late now to back out, isn't it?"

i did not mean to say it, but i did—and i said it with some conviction: "it is! you must be protected."

"thank you, thank you!" she cried, clasping and unclasping her little hands. i found myself wondering if the brute had dared to strike her on that soft, pink cheek!

suddenly a horrible thought struck me with stunning force.

"don't tell me that your—your husband is the man who owned this castle up to a week ago," i cried. "count james hohendahl?"

she shook her head. "no. he is not the man." seeing that i waited for her to go on, she resumed: "i know count james quite well, however. he is my husband's closest friend."

"good heaven," said i, in quick alarm. "that complicates matters, doesn't it? he may come here at any time."

"it isn't likely, mr. smart. to be perfectly honest with you, i waited until i heard you had bought the castle before coming here myself. we were in hiding at the house of a friend in linz up to a week ago. i did not think it right or fair to subject them to the notoriety or the peril that was sure to follow if the officers took it into their heads to look for me there. the day you bought the castle, i decided that it was the safest place for me to stay until the danger blows over, or until father can arrange to smuggle me out of this awful country. that very night we were brought here in a motor. dear old conrad and mrs. schmick took me in. they have been perfectly adorable, all of them."

"may i enquire, madam," said i stiffly, "how you came to select my abode as your hiding place?"

"oh, i have forgotten to tell you that we lived here one whole summer just after we were married. count hohendahl let us have the castle for our—our honey-moon. he was here a great deal of the time. all sorts of horrid, nasty, snobbish people were here to help us enjoy our honeymoon. i shall never forget that dreadful summer. my only friends were the schmicks. every one else ignored and despised me, and they all borrowed, won or stole money from me. i was compelled to play bridge for atrociously high stakes without knowing one card from the other. but, as i say, the schmicks loved me. you see they were in the family ages and ages before i was born."

"the family? what family?"

"the rothhoefen family. haven't they told you that my great-grandmother was a rothhoefen? no? well, she was. i belong to the third generation of american-born descendants. doesn't it simplify matters, knowing this?"

"immensely," said i, in something of a daze.

"and so i came here, mr. smart, where hundreds of my ancestors spent their honeymoons, most of them perhaps as unhappily as i, and where i knew a fellow-countryman was to live for awhile in order to get a plot for a new story. you see, i thought i might be a great help to you in the shape of suggestion."

she smiled very warmly, and i thought it was a very neat way of putting it. naturally it would be quite impossible to put her out after hearing that she had already put herself out to some extent in order to assist me.

"i can supply the villain for your story if you need one, and i can give you oceans of ideas about noblemen. i am sorry that i can't give you a nice, sweet heroine. people hate heroines after they are married and live unhappily. you—"

"the public taste is changing," i interrupted quickly. "unhappy marriages are so common nowadays that the women who go into 'em are always heroines. people like to read about suffering and anguish among the rich, too. besides, you are a countess. that puts you near the first rank among heroines. don't you think it would be proper at this point to tell me who you are?"

she regarded me steadfastly for a moment, and then shook her head.

"i'd rather not tell you my name, mr. smart. it really can't matter, you know. i've thought it all out very carefully, and i've decided that it is not best for you to know. you see if you don't know who it is you are sheltering, the courts can't hold you to account. you will be quite innocent of deliberately contriving to defeat the law. no, i shall not tell you my name, nor my husband's, nor my father's. if you'd like to know, however, i will tell you my baby's name. she's two years old and i think she'll like you to call her rosemary."

by this time i was quite hypnotised by this charming, confident trespasser upon my physical—and i was about to say my moral estate. never have i known a more complacent violater of all the proprieties of law and order as she appeared to be. she was a revelation; more than that, she was an inspiration. what a courageous, independent, fascinating little buccaneer she was! her calm tone of assurance, her overwhelming confidence in herself, despite the occasional lapse into despair, staggered me. i couldn't help being impressed. if i had had any thought of ejecting her, bag and baggage, from my castle, it had been completely knocked out of my head and i was left, you might say, in a position which gave me no other alternative than to consider myself a humble instrument in the furthering of her ends, whether i would or no. it was most amazing. superior to the feeling of scorn i naturally felt for her and her kind,—the fools who make international beds and find them filled with thorns,—there was the delicious sensation of being able to rise above my prejudices and become a willing conspirator against that despot, common sense.

she was very sure of herself, that was plain; and i am positive that she was equally sure of me. it isn't altogether flattering, either, to feel that a woman is so sure of you that there isn't any doubt concerning her estimate of your offensive strength. somehow one feels an absence of physical attractiveness.

"rosemary," i repeated. "and what am i to call you?"

"even my enemies call me countess," she said coldly.

"oh," said i, more respectfully. "i see. when am i to have the pleasure of meeting the less particular rosemary?"

"i didn't mean to be horrid," she said plaintively. "please overlook it, mr. smart. if you are very, very quiet i think you may see her now. she is asleep."

"i may frighten her if she awakes," i said in haste, remembering my antipathy to babies.

nevertheless i was led through a couple of bare, unfurnished rooms into a sunny, perfectly adorable nursery. a nursemaid,—english, at a glance,—arose from her seat in the window and held a cautious finger to her lips. in the middle of a bed that would have accommodated an entire family, was the sleeping rosemary—a tiny, rosy-cheeked, yellow haired atom bounded on four sides by yards of mattress.

i stood over her timorously and stared. the countess put one knee upon the mattress and, leaning far over, kissed a little paw. i blinked, like a confounded booby.

then we stole out of the room.

"isn't she adorable?" asked the countess when we were at a safe distance.

"they all are," i said grudgingly, "when they're asleep."

"you are horrid!"

"by the way," i said sternly, "how does that bedstead happen to be a yard or so lower than any other bed in this entire castle? all the rest of them are so high one has to get into them from a chair."

"oh," she said complacently, "it was too high for blake to manage conveniently, so i had rudolph saw the legs off short."

one of my very finest antique bedsteads! but i didn't even groan.

"you will let me stay on, won't you, mr. smart?" she said, when we were at the fireplace again. "i am really so helpless, you know."

i offered her everything that the castle afforded in the way of loyalty and luxury.

"and we'll have a telephone in the main hall before the end of a week," i concluded beamingly.

her face clouded. "oh, i'd much rather have it in my hallway, if you don't mind. you see, i can't very well go downstairs every time i want to use the 'phone, and it will be a nuisance sending for me when i'm wanted."

this was rather high-handed, i thought.

"but if no one knows you're here, it seems to me you're not likely to be called."

"you never can tell," she said mysteriously.

i promised to put the instrument in her hall, and not to have an extension to my rooms for fear of creating suspicion. also the electric bell system was to be put in just as she wanted it to be. and a lot of other things that do not seem to come to mind at this moment.

i left in a daze at half-past three, to send britton up with all the late novels and magazines, and a big box of my special cigarettes.