Mollie was quite used to people finding fault with her and telling her she was a goose. When Audrey kissed her, she sat down and copied her exercise in a humble and contrite spirit; it was Audrey who felt sad and spiritless the rest of the day. 'It has gone deeper than I thought; it has gone very deep,' she said with a sort of shiver, as she walked up to Hillside that afternoon.
But a far worse ordeal was before Audrey—one that threw all Mollie's girlish chatter into the shade. A few days afterwards she received a little note from Mrs. Blake.
'My dear Miss Ross,' it began,
'I am nearly desperate. What have Mollie or I done that we should be sent to Coventry after this fashion? At least, not Mollie—I am wrong there: Mollie still basks in the light of your smiles, is still allowed to converse with you; it is only I who seem to be debarred from such privileges. Now, my dear creature, what can you mean by keeping away from us like this? I was at Woodcote yesterday, but you had flown. I had to sit and chat with Mrs. Ross instead; she is delightful, but she is not her daughter; no one but yourself can ever fill your place; no one can be Miss Ross. Now will you make us amends for all this unfriendliness? If you will only come to tea with me to-morrow I will promise you full forgiveness and the warmest of welcomes.
'Yours affectionately but resentfully, M. Blake.'
Audrey wrote a pretty playful little answer to this. She was sorry to be accused of unfriendliness, but nothing was farther from her thoughts; she was very busy, very much engaged. Relays of parents had been interviewing them at Woodcote; her sister had not been well, and all her afternoons had been spent at Hillside. Mrs. Blake must be lenient; she would come soon, very soon, and so on. Mrs. Blake was more formidable than Mollie, and Audrey was determined to delay her visit as long as possible. Just now she had a good excuse. Geraldine was a little delicate and ailing, and either she or her mother went daily to Hillside.
Audrey breathed more freely when she had sent off her note; she had given it into Cyril's hand at luncheon—a sudden impulse made her choose that mode of delivery.
'I wish you would give this to your mother,' she said, addressing him suddenly as he sat beside her. 'She wants me to have tea with her to-morrow; but it is impossible, I have so much to do just now.'
'I could have told her; there was no need for you to write or to trouble yourself in any way. I am afraid my mother is rather exacting; it is a Blake foible.' He smiled as he spoke, and there was no special meaning in his tone; he seemed to take it as a matter of course that Audrey's visits to the Cottage had ceased. 'It will be all right,' he said, as he put the letter in his breast-pocket; and then he stopped and called some boy to order. 'You will stay in after luncheon, Roberts,' he said severely, and after that he did not speak again to Audrey.
But that letter, strange to say, brought things to a climax. The very next morning Mollie gave Audrey a note.