Margaret Woodford paused, in a thoughtful, listening attitude; then she turned, and her eyes roved about the tree where she stood. She took a few steps round the trunk till she espied the cavity and the gleam of muslin embroidery from the child's dress which escaped at the opening, as she pressed her back against the inside of her castle to avoid being seen.
"What a jolly little place!" remarked Margaret, as she caught sight of the child. "I wish I'd found this before, we might have had lunch on the doorstep of your domain. I've just finished mine. Where will you have yours?"
"You've eaten it all," muttered the child sulkily.
"No—look, I've kept some. You surely didn't think I'd been greedy enough to finish the lot," and, raising a serviette which lay at the top of the basket, Ellice's eyes saw a vision of food which made her mouth water. She capitulated at once, slid down to the ground in a hurry, and attacked the contents with avidity. In a very few minutes nothing but crumbs remained, and an empty lemonade bottle.
"Now, shall we have a rest while I tell you a story?" suggested Margaret.
There was a moment's hesitation, for of all things Ellice loved better than another, it was to listen to story-telling. An eager expression spread over her face for a moment, then it darkened again.
"I'm going home," she muttered, and, jumping up, she ran lightly down the avenue a little way, then, turning into a denser side-path, vanished.
"Defeated," said Margaret Woodford to herself, with rather a sad little laugh. "Ah, well, I must try again. I'm on the King's service, I must never forget that, and victory is of the Lord—of course, that applies in every case."
It was not a very cheerful outlook for the young governess, but she was determined to win through if possible.
She did not see her charge again that day. Upon inquiring for her after her return from the woods, she was informed she was taking tea with her mother, and would not be down again that evening.