The Secret Passage | Page 5

She plays herself
sometimes!"
Miss Loach again directed one of her piercing looks at the pale face of
the girl. "You are too inquisitive and too talkative," she said suddenly,
"therefore you won't suit me. Good-day."
Susan was quite taken aback. "Oh, ma'am, I hope I've said nothing
wrong. I only answered your questions."
"You evidently take note of everything you see, and talk about it."
"No, ma'am," said the girl earnestly. "I really hold my tongue."
"When it suits you," retorted Miss Loach. "Hold it now and let me
think!"
While Miss Loach, staring frowningly into the fire, debated inwardly as
to the advisability of engaging the girl, Susan looked timidly round the
room. Curiously enough, it was placed in the basement of the cottage,
and was therefore below the level of the garden. Two fairly large
windows looked on to the area, which had been roofed with glass and
turned into a conservatory. Here appeared scarlet geraniums and other
bright-hued flowers, interspersed with ferns and delicate grasses.
Owing to the position of the room and the presence of the glass roof,

only a subdued light filtered into the place, but, as the day was brilliant
with sunshine, the apartment was fairly well illuminated. Still, on a
cloudy day, Susan could imagine how dull it would be. In winter time
the room must be perfectly dark.
It was luxuriously furnished, in red and gold. The carpet and curtains
were of bright scarlet, threaded with gold. The furniture, strangely
enough, was of white polished wood upholstered in crimson satin
fringed with gold. There were many pictures in large gilded frames and
many mirrors similarly encircled with gilded wood. The grate, fender
and fire-irons were of polished brass, and round the walls were
numerous electric lamps with yellow shades. The whole room
represented a bizarre appearance, flamboyant and rather tropical in
looks. Apparently Miss Loach was fond of vivid colors. There was no
piano, nor were there books or papers, and the only evidence as to how
Miss Loach passed her time revealed itself in a work-basket and a pack
of cards. Yet, at her age, Susan thought that needlework would be
rather trying, even though she wore no glasses and her eyes seemed
bright and keen. She was an odd old lady and appeared to be rich. "I'll
engage you," said Miss Loach abruptly; "get your box and be here
before five o'clock this afternoon. I am expecting some friends at eight
o'clock. You must be ready to admit them. Now go!"
"But, ma'am, I -- "
"In this house," interrupted Miss Loach imperiously, "no one speaks to
me, unless spoken to by me. You understand!"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Susan timidly, and obeyed the finger which
pointed to the door. Miss Loach listened to the girl's footsteps on the
stairs, and sat down when she heard the front door close. But she was
up again almost in a moment and pacing the room. Apparently the
conversation with Susan Grant afforded her food for reflection. And not
very palatable food either, judging from her expression.
The newly-engaged servant returned that same afternoon to the
suburban station, which tapped the district of Rexton. A trunk, a
bandbox and a bag formed her humble belongings, and she arranged

with a porter that these should be wheeled in a barrow to Rose Cottage,
as Miss Loach's abode was primly called. Having come to terms, Susan
left the station and set out to walk to the place. Apart from the fact that
she saved a cab fare, she wished to obtain some idea of her
surroundings, and therefore did not hurry herself.
It was a bright June day with a warm green earth basking under a blue
and cloudless sky. But even the sunshine could not render Rexton
beautiful. It stretched out on all sides from the station new and raw.
The roads were finished, with asphalt footpaths and stone curbing, the
lamp-posts had apparently only been lately erected, and lines of white
fences divided the roads from gardens yet in their infancy. Fronting
these were damp-looking red brick villas, belonging to small clerks and
petty tradesmen. Down one street was a row of shops filled with the
necessaries of civilization; and round the corner, an aggressively new
church of yellow brick with a tin roof and a wooden steeple stood in the
middle of an untilled space. At the end of one street a glimpse could be
caught of the waste country beyond, not yet claimed by the
ferry-builder. A railway embankment bulked against the horizon, and
closed the view in an unsightly manner. Rexton was as ugly as it was
new.
Losing her way, Susan came to the ragged fringe of country environing
the new suburb, and paused there, to take in her surroundings. Across