Master and Maid. L. Allen Harker

      "

      CHAPTER I

      On the second Friday of term Anthony Bevan, whom all his world called "Bruiser Bevan," Housemaster of "B. House" in Hamchester College, sat at dessert with three of his prefects. They had exhaustively discussed the prospects of the coming football season, had mutually exchanged their holiday experiences, and now, when it was really time that the boys should betake themselves to their several studies, they still lingered enjoying the last few pleasant moments over the walnuts and the very light port that their housemaster considered suited to their young digestions.

      The big window at the end of the room stood open to the soft September evening, and the sudden crunch of wheels upon the newly gravelled drive was plainly audible, followed as it was by a loud ring.

      Master and boys fell silent, listening; and the parlour-maid opened the dining-room door.

      "Please, sir, there's a young lady--" she began; when the tale was taken up by another voice, a young voice, singularly full and pleasant:

      "It's me, Tony, dear; and didn't you expect me? Dad promised faithfully he would telegraph, but I suppose he forgot, as usual; and oh, I'm so tired! We had a good crossing, but I couldn't sleep, it was so stuffy."

      Val, the Irish terrier, who always lay under his master's chair, rushed at the newcomer, leaping upon her in rapturous and excited welcome.

      "Ah! 'tis the dear dog is pleased to see me. Down, Val, down! You'll tear me to bits! Dear Val! but your welcome is too warm altogether."

      Into the circle of light thrown by the hanging lamp above the table came a girl--a remarkably upright, small, slim girl of nineteen--clad in a long light grey travelling coat, with a voluminous grey gauze veil thrown back from her hat. Her little face was delicately featured and pale. She was not particularly noticeable until she spoke: then the timbre of her voice was arresting, it was so full and sweet--not in the least degree loud, but singularly clear and musical, with the unmistakable lilt of a Southern Irish brogue.

      Tony Bevan leapt to his feet and advanced to meet her, holding out both his hands.

      "You, Lallie! now! Why, I didn't expect you for another fortnight. Your father's letter only----"

      "Well, I'm here, Tony," she interrupted, "sure enough, and I'm ravenous. Can't I sit down with you and these gentlemen and have some dinner now--at once? I'm fairly clean, for I had ever such a wash at Birmingham."

      The girl included the three prefects who stood around the table in her remarks, smiling radiantly upon the assembled company, and one of them hastily set his chair for her near the head of the table which was Tony's place.

      As she sat down she flashed another entrancing smile in the direction of the prefect exclaiming:

      "Bring another chair now and sit down by me, and don't on any account let me spoil your dinners. Just take it that I'm a few courses late, and you'll all be kind and keep me company. Have some more nuts now, do, and then I'll feel more at home."

      With the best will in the world those three prefects sat down again, and each one hastily helped himself to nuts, in spite of the fact that their host, far from seconding the newcomer's invitation, turned right round in his chair to look at the clock.

      The concentrated and admiring gaze of three pairs of eyes did not in the smallest degree disconcert her. She was manifestly and perfectly at her ease. Not so her host; he looked distinctly worried and perturbed, though he hastened to ring the bell and order some dinner for his evidently unexpected guest. Then he sat down and poured her out a glass of claret.

      "Child, have you come straight from Kerry?" he asked.

      "I left home yesterday afternoon and crossed at night, and I seem to have been travelling ever since."

      "By yourself?" Tony asked anxiously.

      "The Beamishes met me at Chester, and I had a bath and luncheon at their house, and afterwards we drove round the city. Oh! here's my dinner, and it's thankful I am to see it. How nice of you not to have eaten all the duck!"

      Again she included all the company in her charming smile, and the senior prefect helped himself anew to nuts.

      "You're very quiet, Tony," she said, turning to her host; "not a patch upon Val in your welcome. Am I in the way? Is there not a bed for me? If so, you must take me to some kind of a lodging after dinner. Dad forbade me to go to any sort of an hotel."

      "Of course, of course," Tony exclaimed hastily, "it will be quite all right, only it is unfortunate that Miss Foster should happen to be away this week, just when you have come."

      "For my part," she said, catching her opposite neighbour's eye and making a little face, "I think that I will manage to exist without Miss Foster quite nicely till her return. Don't you worry about me, Tony. I feel quite at home already. I know you, Mr. Berry," and she nodded at the senior prefect. "Paddy's got your portrait, and you come in lots of groups. Don't you think, Tony, you ought to present these other gentlemen to me?"

      Mechanically Tony Bevan made the required introductions. Whereupon the stranger added:

      "I'm Paddy Clonmell's twin sister, you know; he was here last term, but he's gone to Sandhurst now. You'll remember him quite well, don't you?"

      "Rather!" came in vigorous chorus from the three, and for the moment Tony Bevan's anxious expression changed to one of amusement.

      The clock on the mantelpiece struck half-past eight.

      "I think you fellows will need to go," said Tony; "Miss Clonmell will excuse you; it's more than time you were doing your prep."

      "Ah, well, we'll meet again to-morrow," Miss Clonmell announced cheerfully. "There's ever so many of you I want to see. I know lots of you by name as well as can be."

      As the door was shut behind the last of the prefects the girl drew her chair nearer to Tony's and laid a small deprecating hand upon his arm.

      "I'm afraid I'm fearfully in the way, Tony," she said, in a voice that subtly combined excuse, apology, and reproach. "You don't seem a bit glad to see me; and if you won't let me stay here, Dad says I'd better go to the big girls' school in this town as a by-something or other, and I'll hate it!"

      "My dear," and as he spoke Tony patted the pleading little hand that lay so lightly on his arm, "I am entirely delighted to see you, but as I said before, it is unfortunate that Miss Foster should happen to be away."

      "Bother Miss Foster! I'm certain from all I've heard that she's the very worst sort of Aunt Emileen. I'm glad she's away; I'd far rather be here with you. Paddy says she's a regular catamaran. Honestly, Tony, now, isn't she?"

      Tony pursed up his lips, and tried hard to look severe as he shook his head.

      "I wish she were here just at present, anyhow. When irresponsible children turn up unexpectedly, it needs