"What does this mean?" she quavered, so close to Annesley's ear that the
girl wheeled with a start of renewed alarm. "Who's this strange man in my
house? What's this talk about 'engagements'?"
"A strange man!" echoed Ruthven Smith, prickling with suspicion again.
"Haven't you met him, Miss Grayle's fiance?"
"Miss Grayle's fiddlesticks!" shrilled the old woman. "The girl's a
baggage, a worthless baggage! In my room just now she _struck_ me--beat
my poor rheumatic knuckles! For five years I've sheltered her, given her
the best of everything, even to the clothes she has on her back. This is
the way she repays me--with insults and cruelty, and smuggles strange men
secretly into my house at night, and pretends to be engaged to them!"
The dark young man in evening dress passed the lean figure in travelling
clothes without a word and, putting Annesley gently aside, stepped
between her and Mrs. Ellsworth.
"There is no question of 'pretending'," he said, sternly. "Miss Grayle
has promised to marry me. If our engagement has been kept a secret, it's
only because the right moment hadn't come for announcing it.
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