"You did that, sir," agreed Mrs. Bates, collapsing into the chair Grant
had just vacated.

Like most red-faced people, Mrs. Bates turned a bluish purple when
alarmed, and her aspect was so distressing now that Grant's smile was
banished by a look of real concern.

"I'm very sorry," he said contritely. "I had no notion you were in the
room. Shall I call Minnie?"

Minnie, it may be explained, was Mrs. Bates's daughter and assistant,
the two, plus a whiskered Bates, gardener and groom, forming the domestic
establishment presided over by Grant.

"Nun-no, sir," stuttered the housekeeper. "It's stupid of me. But I'm not
so young as I was, an' me heart jumps at little things."

Grant saw that she was recovering, though slowly. He thought it best not
to make too much of the incident; but asked solicitously if he might give
her some brandy.

Mrs. Bates remarked that she was "not so bad as that," rose valiantly,
and went on with her work. Her employer, who had gone into the garden
again, saw out of the tail of his eye that she vanished with a half-laden
tray. In a couple of minutes the daughter appeared, and finished the
slight task of clearing the table; meanwhile, Grant kept away from the
small window. Being a young man who cultivated the habit of observation,
he noticed that Minnie, too, cast scared glances at the window. When the
girl had finally quitted the room, he laughed in a puzzled way.