“If you are ill after this, Cousin Vane,” she heard Stuart say, “I shall never forgive myself. The heat is terrific, you know. Are you quite sure you can manage it?”
“Quite,” answered the woman’s voice. “I want to see this poor doggie; besides, you tell me it is just as far back again as round this way.”
“Just as far. Well, here we are! Poor Sir Charles, I hope the old fellow is better.”
The two figures came into sight; they were about six yards from Margery, and were walking slowly. She could see the delicate blue drapery, the slender gauntleted hand, though she did not raise her eyes; and she drew back into her corner with a nervous dread such as she had never felt hitherto.
Mr. Crosbie led his cousin to a small outhouse immediately facing the kitchen door, and was about to open the door, when, looking round, he saw Margery. His face flushed for an instant; then, before his cousin could perceive it, his embarrassment was gone.
“There, Vane,” he said, easily, opening the door and pointing to a large collie lying on a heap of clean straw. “Don’t be afraid; he won’t hurt you. Poor Sir Charles—poor old fellow!” He stooped and took up a bandaged paw. “I shall have you about in a day or two. He wants some fresh water. Margery”—he left his cousin’s side a little, and looked straight at the girl sitting up in the corner—“Margery, will you kindly ask one of the maids to bring me some water for Sir Charles?”
Margery put down her book without a word, went indoors, brought a jug, then walked to the well a little to the left, and, having filled the jug, approached him.
“Thank you. Why did you trouble, Margery?” said Stuart, courteously. “How is your mother to-day?”
“She is no better, Mr. Stuart, thank you,” returned Margery, in her clear, refined voice. “I am waiting for some things madame is kindly going to send her.”
Vane Charteris had turned at the first sound of the girl’s voice, and she was almost alarmed at the beauty of the face before her. Beside the golden glory of that hair, the depths of pathetic splendor in those eyes, the pale transparency of that skin, her own prettiness simply faded away. She noted the grace and ease with which Margery moved, and immediately conceived a violent dislike to this village girl.