"I'm not going to put up with Lizzy, then, if you are!" cried out the cook, not caring whether I was present or not. "Send her but for the least thing, and there she stops. My custard ought to have been made, and set to cool by this time. She gets talking to the out-door men; I know she does. What else can she do?"
"That woman was here again last night," rejoined Harriet, as they stood over the fire.
"I say, who is that woman?—coming after Lizzy Dene, as she does! Why shouldn't Lizzy be open about it?"
"I asked her who it was, the other day, but she'd give me no answer," replied Harriet. "You know that weeping ash, off yonder to the right. Well, there they stood with their heads together, last night, Lizzy Dene and the woman. Lizzy's very much altered of late. I can't make her out. At the time of the accident to Mr. Chandos, she was like one out of her mind. I asked her if she had frightened the horse. There was always something odd about her."
"There'll be something odder about her yet, if she don't speedily bring them eggs," retorted the cook. "I wont put up with this."
I took my hand out of the water, wrapped a handkerchief loosely round it, and went out at the back-door, taking my way leisurely round. Truth to say, I was watching for Lizzy Dene.
And I saw her. She came darting down one of the paths, and caught up a basket of eggs that stood behind a tree; her face was red and flushed, as if she had been walking or talking herself into a heat.
"Lizzy," I said, confronting her, "they are waiting for the eggs. Where have you been?"
"Don't stop me, Miss, please; cook's in a rage as it is, I know," was all the answer I received; and the woman bore on to the kitchen.