“Then I must go without it!” she exclaimed; and, suiting the action to the word, she began to move down the path.
Stuart followed at once, and put a detaining hand on her arm.
“Here is your basket, Margery. I was only teasing you. What a time you have been! I have been waiting here for you for the last five minutes.”
Margery’s heart grew lighter again.
“You might have been better employed,” she returned, with the quaint sharpness Stuart always admired. “But, if you have time to waste, I have not. Listen! There—it is striking six, and mother will wonder what has become of me.”
“Yes, that is six,” observed Mr. Crosbie, listening to the clock chiming from the castle. “You will get home by seven, Margery, if you start at once. Not that way!”—as she turned again down the path. “This is nearly half a mile nearer.” He pushed open the gate and motioned her into the paddock again. “Now,” he continued, slinging the basket on his arm and turning beside her across the field, “why are you cross with me, Miss Margery?”
“I am not cross with you,” Margery answered, hurriedly.
“Not now, perhaps; but you were.”
Margery was silent.
“What was it, Margery?” he asked, gently.