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John palm upwards, and on her face was a more impudent smile, a more naked look of greed, than Thomas could have thought possible.
    â€œHe bribes her to make uncle Richard play cards, so that he may get his land,” thought Thomas in a flash.
    He stepped forward into the circle of light, bowed very low, smiled very coldly and said: “Madam! Sir John!” in a very stiff voice.
    He was pleased to see that they were startled. Mistress Brownwood 5 s huge sleeves rustled sharply—she was wearing a fortune of good new carnation satin on her back, Thomas saw with anger, and the jewels in her rings were real enough now—while Sir John gave his thumb-nails an emphatic flip.
    â€œAh! Sir Richard’s heir!” said he in his bland drawl.
    It was an utterance neatly contrived to vex both his hearers—Thomas by suggesting that he had come to Bellomont only from interest in his inheritance, and Mistress Brownwood by reminding her that she was not Sir Richard’s wife. Sir John Resmond’s utterances were usually contrived to vex someone, decided Thomas, and he kept his smile fixed on his face so as to conceal his vexation as far as he might.
    â€œYou are unfortunate in the time of your visit; your uncle has but just gone out,” said Sir John smoothly.
    â€œHe has ridden to Annotsfield and God knows when he will come back,” said the lady.
    â€œI will await his return,” said Thomas, smiling harder than before.
    A look passed between Sir John and Mistress Brownwood, then the lady rose, shook out her skirts, put on a smile ashard as Thomas’s own, and said with an attempt at gracious-ness:
    â€œBut you are very welcome, Thomas. I will call the servants and bid them see to your comfort.”
    â€œThere is no need—Simon will attend me,” said Thomas calmly.
    This was extremely rude on his part and he knew it, for it denied her position as mistress of the house. The pale blue eyes gleamed with malice as she stepped past him and called for Simon—in a loud nagging tone which Thomas felt was often heard in Bellomont nowadays. Simon, who had followed Thomas into the house, came up slowly and received her instructions with a good deal of bowing and nodding which cloaked, Thomas thought, a real indifference —the state of the house, which everywhere had a look of dust and tarnish, showed that Rosamond had not the gift of commanding genuine obedience in those who waited on her.
    â€œSimon,” said Thomas when the old servant had led him
    to the bedchamber he had occupied before: “Where is——”
    He stumbled, then brought out in a rush: “the little Isabella?”
    â€œIsabella?” exclaimed the old man. “Why, she is here.”
    â€œI wish to see her,” said Thomas stolidly.
    Simon appeared astonished, but wagging his head and muttering to himself as if in contempt of the inexplicable whims of the gentry, he nevertheless led the way to the room where Thomas had seen Joanna and her child before. A cradle lay in front of the fire; a plump slatternly maid rocked it with one foot, doubtless in the attempt to hush the thin wail which rose from its occupant.
    â€œBut” began Thomas.
    â€œHe wants to see the child,” said Simon. “Take her up.”
    The maid, with a pert smile up to Thomas, threw back some heavy dirty bedclothes from the cradle. To his horror a kind of steam seemed to rise from the child, which was a long thin pale infant lying slack and ailing and giving forth a persistent fretful mew.
    â€œBut—” began Thomas again.
    â€œAnd what do you want with my daughter, Master Thomas?” cried Mistress Brownwood suddenly in his ear at the top of her voice.
    â€œNothing, madam,” said Thomas, bowing. “There is some mistake. It was the little Isabella I sought to see.”
    â€œThis is the only Isabella at Bellomont,” said Rosamond in a voice of triumph.
    â€œWhy did you call