Margaret went to the window, and leaning over, drew in a long breath of the perfumed air.
"Oh, beautiful! beautiful!" she murmured. "Ah! you should have lived in London for five years to appreciate this lovely place. Mary—is your name Mary?"
The maid blushed.
"Why, yes, miss! Did you guess it?" she replied, almost awed by the cleverness of this tall, lovely young creature from London.
Margaret laughed.
"Most nice girls are called Mary," she said; "and I am sure you are nice."
The girl blushed again, but, rendered speechless with pleasure, could only stare at her shyly, and run from the room.
When Margaret came down it seemed to the old lady that she was more beautiful than before, with her bright soft hair brushed down from her oval face, and her slim, undulating figure revealed by the absence of the traveling jacket. Tea was on the table and a huge bowl of Gloire roses, and the whole room looked the picture of comfort and elegance.
"Now tell me all about it," said Mrs. Hale, when the girl had got seated in a low chair beside the window, with her teacup and bread and butter. "And you are quite a famous personage, Margaret, are you?"
The girl laughed, a soft, low laugh of innocent happiness.