CHAPTER I.
THE "ANDROMEDA" "Marry Mr.Bulmer! That horrid old man! Uncle, what _are_ you saying ?" The girl sprang to her feet as if she were some timid creature of the wild aroused from sylvan broodings by knowledge of imminent danger.

In her terror, she upset the three wineglasses that formed part of the display beside each _couvert_ on the luncheon table.

One, rose-tinted and ornate, crashed to the floor, and the noise seemed to irritate the owner of Linden House more than his niece's shrill terror.
"No need to bust up our best set of 'ock glasses just because I 'appen to mention owd Dickey Bulmer," he growled.
The color startled so suddenly out of the girl's face began to return.
Her eyes lost their dilation of fear.

Somehow, the comment on the broken glass seemed to deprive "owd Dickey Bulmer's" personality of its real menace.
"I'm sorry," she said, and stooped to pick up the fragments scattered over the carpet.
"Leave that alone," came the sharp order.

"So long as I've the brass to pay for 'em, there's plenty more where that kem from, an' in any case, it's the 'ousemaid's job.