Mrs. Crosbie was unduly pleased with herself for bringing this girl to her level, and she was determined to lose no opportunity of continuing it in the future. As they stopped at the lodge gates she turned to Margery:
“Get down and go along that path to the back part of the house, and wait in the kitchen till I send for you.”
Margery obediently descended, and turned down the sidepath as the ponies started off along the sweeping avenue to the castle entrance. Why was madame so stern and Mr. Stuart so kind? Margery pondered as she walked on. Had she done anything wrong? Her mind accused her of no fault; she could therefore arrive at no solution of the mystery.
The path she was following was one used by the gardeners, and she soon arrived at a small gate, which, on opening, led her to the paddock and kitchen gardens. Margery toiled through the heat up to the courtyard, and, after crossing this, entered a large door standing wide open.
The cook and her handmaidens were indulging in five-o’clock tea, and the mistress of the kitchen rose with genial hospitality to press her visitor to partake of some, too.
“Now, do!” she urged, as Margery shook her head. “You look fair fagged out.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Drew,” Margery said, simply; unconsciously she recoiled from accepting anything that came from Mrs. Crosbie. “I am not really tired. Madame has driven me here from the village. I am to take some things back to mother. If you don’t mind, I will wait outside—it is rather hot in here.”
“Ay, do, child,” the cook answered; and she handed out a large stool. “Put this just in the doorway, and you’ll catch a little draught.”
With a smile Margery took the stool, and, placing it in a shady corner, sat down and began to read. The courtyard stretched along a quadrangle leading to the stables, and, looking up now and then from her book, Margery caught glimpses of the castle horses lazily switching their tails in their comfortable boxes. The pony carriage was driven in while she waited, and she watched with much interest the small, sturdy ponies being unharnessed and led away. It was a quaint, picturesque spot—the low-roofed stables, the larger coach-house, a portion of the gray-stone castle jutting out in the distance, with a background of branches and faintly moving leaves. Margery shut her book and let her eyes wander to the clear blue sky seen in patches through the trees. She felt cool in her little nook, and enjoyed the rest. The groom had discarded his smart livery, and, in company with another lad, was busily employed in cleaning the pony carriage, the hissing sound with which he accompanied his movements not sounding unmusical from a distance; and Margery found herself smiling at his exertions and the confidence that had succeeded his bashfulness. Suddenly, while she was watching them, she saw the groom and his companion draw themselves up and salute some one; and then the next moment a figure came round the corner—a figure in white tennis costume, with a white silk shirt and large flapping hat. Margery felt her cheeks grow warm, then they as quickly colored. Another figure stood beside the tall one of the man, a dainty, delicate, lovely form in a dress of ethereal blue, holding a large sun-shade of the same color above her beautiful head.
Unconsciously Margery felt her heart sink. Never had she seen so fair a vision before; and the sight of those two figures, so well matched and so close together, brought a strange vague pain to her, the nature of which she could not guess. She dropped her eyes to her book again, and shrunk back into her corner, hoping to escape notice. She was too far away to hear what was said, and she began to breathe freely again after a few minutes, when the faint sound of a musical voice was borne on the air and the tones of a deep, clear voice she knew well came nearer and nearer. She pulled her sunbonnet well over her eyes and bent still lower over her book as the voices drew closer.