“That lady’s name,” said Merry, “was Cicely Meredith, and she was the wife of the last Meredith but one who owned the Manor. It was little supposed in those days that my darling mother would inherit the place, and that Cardews should live at Meredith Manor after all. Ah, here comes Dixon!—Dixon, will you put our lunch on that small table? Thank you very much.”
One of the servants in the Cardew livery had appeared. 29 He was bearing a small tray of tempting drinks, fruit, and cake.
“Now, Maggie, eat; do eat,” said Merry.
“I declare I am as hungry as a hawk,” said Maggie, and she munched cake and ate fruit and felt that she was, as she expressed it to herself—although she would not have used the words aloud—in clover.
Nevertheless, she was not going to lose sight of that mission which she had set herself. She turned and looked thoughtfully at Merry. Merry had a pretty profile, with the short upper-lip and the graceful appearance of a very high-bred girl.
“Do you,” said Maggie after a pause, “happen to know Aneta Lysle?”
“Why, of course,” said Merry. “Do you mean Lady Lysle’s niece?”
“Yes,” replied Maggie.
“I don’t know her well, but she has stayed here once or twice. Is she a friend of yours, Maggie?”
“Oh no; scarcely a friend, although we are schoolfellows.”