Wolf was completely nonplussed by the personality of Miss Round. Superficially she looked clean, fresh, amiable, and a little stupid; but all her movements possessed a queer, automatic quality that made him slightly uncomfortable. He couldn’t define it at once; but after watching her carefully for a short space, he came to the conclusion that she was like a pretty doll, or a human mannequin, wound up to perform a given task, but lacking all interior consciousness of what she was doing.

“ Mr. Malakite sends his compliments, Sir,” she said, “and he hopes to have the honour of a cup of tea with you in a minute. He’s just finishing his game.”

“Don’t hurry him. I’ll be all right,” murmured Wolf. “Is your father the landlord here?” This he added rather lamely, as she proceeded with rapid movements of her plump hands to arrange the tea-things on the table.

Miss Bess nodded. “He’s not Dad,” she replied calmly. “He’s uncle. Dad’s been gone for years.”