determined that Mr. Dasy should hold it for me. I made him kneel on the rug before me, and at six o'clock I was winding for dear life, and he was smiling beatifically.
Ah! I heard Arthur's step at last. I could always recognize it. James was telling him that I had his letters. James had told. He was coming in my direction. The door opened. He entered.
Now for my rôle. "Arthur," I said with affected hesitation, "let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Dasy—Mr. Dasy, my husband, Mr. Ravener."
I watched Arthur's face. I did not dare to look at poor Mr. Dasy. My husband's countenance showed positively no change. "I am glad to meet you, Mr. Dasy," he began, "I see you are making yourself useful. Isn't it rather too much to ask visitors to assist in such a laborious operation as wool winding, Elsie?" he said, smiling at me in all good fellowship, perfectly satisfied as though Hector had been Marie or—not to libel my French maid by comparison—a dummy from a tailor's shop.
