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as she closed the door that she had never met such a boorish, sour-tempered man.
    As she went up the stairs she saw the housekeeper disappear into the main bedroom overlooking the gal lery and decided she would have time to unpack before Miss Berresford was ready. By the time she had put her clothes away in the large wardrobe and capacious drawers it was just after eleven o'clock, and she went along the corridor and knocked at the old woman's door.
    A light voice bade her come in, and she found herself in one of the loveliest bedrooms she had ever seen. In contrast to the rest of the house it was incongruously soft and feminine, for although she had not yet seen all the rooms at Crags' Height, the general atmosphere was one of oppressive grandeur. But this room was light and airy, the shimmering blue curtains and thick pile carpet bespeaking the taste of a woman used to luxury. The furniture was ornate; the delicately shaped dressing-table and chairs elaborately carved and gilded.
    "Are you admiring my bedroom?" Miss Berresford enquired proudly. "If so, you're not the first. Everyone who sees it is surprised that there should be anything like this at Crags' Height."
    "It is rather an anachronism," Barbara admitted. "I can imagine it as a setting for Lily Langtry or the Dolly sisters."
    Miss Berresford chuckled. "How clever of you, my dear! It was originally my sister's—Dominic's mother, you know."
    To Barabara it did not seem possible that anyone so obviously feminine could have been intimately related to the stern, hard-faced man who now owned the house, and she looked round with even greater interest.
    "Is there a picture of Mrs. Rockwood?" she asked.
    Miss Bcrrcsford's face suddenly became vacant and evasive. "There used to be, but it disappeared a long time ago. Things have a habit of disappearing, you know. I can never find anything when I want it." She fluttered her hands. "But don't let's waste time up here. If you'll give me your arm and help me downstairs we can go for a little walk before lunch."
    Barbara helped her to her feet and wrapping a shawl round the frail shoulders they went out of the room, down the stairs and across the hall into the garden, where they strolled quietly on the gravel paths surround ing the lawns. Rockwood joined them in the dining-room for lunch, but apart from a cursory nod to Barbara and a few terse sentences to his aunt he ignored them both and hurried through his meal, excusing himself before coffee was brought in. In his presence the old woman
    seemed to shrivel into herself, and it was not until the door closed behind him that her unnatural gaiety returned and she became talkative again.
    Barbara took her back to her room immediately lunch was over and read snippets of news from the Daily Telegraph until the papery lids began to droop and the old face relaxed in sudden sleep. Then she walked over to the window and looked out at the garden, longing to go for a walk yet afraid she might awaken Miss Berres ford if she left the room.
    At half past four the housekeeper came up with tea and Miss Berresford woke up and leant back against the pillows, surprised to find Barbara still sitting there.
    "Oh, my dear, you should have gone out for a walk. It's such a lovely afternoon and you've been missing it."
    "I was afraid of waking you."
    "You needn't have been—nothing wakes me after lunch." The faded eyes twinkled. "You'll realize that by and by. Come and pour out for me, Barbara—I hope I may call you Barbara? It's so much more friendly than 'Miss Mansfield'."
    "Of course you may," Barbara smiled.
    "Good! And you must call me Aunt Ellie, just as Dominic docs."
    Never having heard her nephew refer to her as any thing but "Aunt", and that in the coldest tones, Barbara decided the statement was a pathetic symptom of wishful thinking. "I'd like to call you Aunt Ellie very much," she said gently, "if you're sure Mr. Rockwood won't object."
    Momentary uncertainty came into the old face. "Do