In her walks to the village it got to be the regular thing for the American to become her escort.
He was rather clever at pencil-drawing, and made numerous sketches of the house, and took the likenesses of all the servants.

He even set up a photographic place down in the village, and announced himself ready to "take" the whole population at "half a dollar" a head.
"There's nothing like making hay while the sun shines," remarked Mr.
Parmalee to himself.

"I may as well do a little stroke of business, to keep my hand in, while I wait for my lady.

There ain't no telling how this little speculation of mine may turn out, after all." So the weeks went by, and every Thursday found the American exploring the house.

He was a curious study to Sybilla as he went along, his hands invariably in his pockets, his hat pushed to the back of his head, whistling softly and meditatively.
Every day she became more convinced he knew something of Harrie Hunsden's American antecedents, and every day she grew more gracious.
But if Mr.Parmalee had his secrets, he knew how to keep them.
"Can he ever have been a lover of hers in New York ?" Sybilla asked herself.