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hours of darkness deepened her grief and loneliness, and the future loomed grimly forbidding, so that her pillow was wet with tears when she at length fell into a deep sleep.
    The morning dawned cold and overcast. A chill wind scattered the falling leaves, and the trees were beginning to acquire a threadbare look. Gorton’s “refined” accent was not quite as pronounced when she assisted Miss Grainger with her toilette, but at a suggestion that she be called a less formal “Miss Zoe,” the tall woman all but threw up her hands in horror. “May lady,” said she, “would judge such a form of address to be an impertinent familiarity.”
    Zoe stifled a sigh. “Is Lady Julia Yerville of a—a similar disposition to her sister?”
    Gorton hesitated, then answered carefully, “Lady Yerville does not enjoy robust health. She has a—er, very gentle manner.”
    â€œOh.” Brightening, Zoe smiled at her handmaiden.
    Gorton’s severe face relaxed into a grin. “Just so, Miss.”
    Fully prepared to be instructed as to the merits of porridge over bacon and eggs, Zoe went down to the dining room. My lady did not appear, however, and the host’s wife, a stout and bright-eyed little person, conducted Zoe to a small table near to the window, “where Miss can look out at the gardens.”
    Zoe rather hoped that the charming gentleman she’d encountered on the stairs yesterday would come in, but the only other occupant of the room was an elderly clergyman who blinked near-sightedly in her direction, nodded his head, and retreated behind a copy of The Spectator. She did not want for company, however. The serving maid was of a friendly disposition, and Zoe’s admiring remark about the gardens opened the floodgates. In no time both the maid and the host’s lady were chatting with their guest. The minutes slipped away amid a flurry of talk and laughter and there was no time for pining or loneliness.
    She felt quite cheerful as she climbed the stairs once more, but it soon became evident that Lady Buttershaw was vexed. Her stentorian tones reverberated along the upper hall, and Zoe paused, shrinking from an angry scene.
    Gorton sounded tearful. “But, may lady, it was may understanding—”
    â€œ Understanding? It appears to me my good woman that your understanding is inferior! Which is quite contrary to what I was informed by my butler. Indeed, I shall have to advise him of my displeasure.”
    â€œOh, may lady, never be cross with Mr. Arbour! Ay—”
    â€œI shall be cross with whomsoever I please! Nor do I need instructions as to my dealings with servants! A pretty presumption, I declare! If you were so concerned for his position in my household I would think you might have followed my orders! I believe my voice is clear and my enunciation precise. Further, my instructions to you were couched in simple terms such as I felt not beyond your powers of comprehension. My nature is generous, however, and I will repeat them now and allow you to make one last effort to take them into your brain. Miss Grainger is country bred and does not know how to go on in Town. She is to be never out of your sight! If that is too complicated for your understanding, Gorton, you had best own to it at once, so that I can make other arrangements.”
    Quailing, Zoe tried to gather her courage. She had stood up to those two villains yesterday evening. Why must she be so much more afraid of this big, bullying woman? Because she was a coward, of course! And Lady Clara Buttershaw frightened everyone. But poor Gorton needed her! She took a deep breath, clenched her hands, and made her feet step forward. A maid carrying a pile of sheets scurried past, slanting a scared glance at her. Zoe opened the door.
    Lady Buttershaw, her gaunt features flushed and her little eyes glaring, stood in the centre of the bedchamber. Wringing her hands, Gorton quailed before