Margaret remained silent, dabbing on little spots of color delicately.
"I quite envy you your stay here," he went on, looking in her grave face, which had become somewhat pale since his arrival. "That jolly little garden, and—and this grand gallery. I hope you will be happy, and—and enjoy yourself."
"Thank you my lord," coldly as before.
He looked at her with a slightly puzzled frown.
"Yes, I should like to stay; but I can't—for the best of all reasons, I haven't been invited, don't you know."
Margaret said nothing, but carefully mixed some colors on her palette.
"And so—and so I'm off," he said, with a sudden sigh. "Perhaps we shall meet in London, Miss Hale."
"It is not likely," said Margaret gravely.
"So you said last night," he responded; "but I shall live in hopes. Yes. London's only a little place, after all, you know, and—and we may meet. Well, I'll say good-bye!"
"Good-bye, my lord," she said, affecting not to see his outstretched hand.