She turned now and beamed on Sanders. "Thank you," she said; "thank you." And Sanders was hers.
"Anything I can do-ma'am-sir?" asked Sanders.
"Nothing-except send my maid as soon as she comes," she replied.
"I shan't need you," said I.
"Mr. Monson is still here," he said, lingering. "Shall I send him away, sir, or do you wish to see him?"
"I'll speak to him myself in a moment," I answered.
When Sanders was gone, she seated herself and absently played with the buttons of her glove.
"Shall I bring Monson?" I asked. "You know, he's my-factotum.
"
"_I_ do not wish to see him," she answered.
"You do not like him?" said I.
After a brief hesitation she answered, "No.
"
I restrained a strong impulse to ask her why, for instinct told me she had some especial reason that somehow concerned me. I said merely: "Then I shall get rid of him."
"Not on my account," she replied, indifferently.
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