“I’ll take all the blame.”
“I don’t know what he’ll say,” pleaded Mary.
“Well, I’m going to get the eggs, anyhow,” announced Jane, cutting short further argument by moving away.
During this enigmatic dialogue, Lucy’s mystified gaze traveled from the face of one woman to that of another. What was it all about? And who was this Martin that he should inspire such terror? 68
“I’m afraid,” she called to the retreating Jane, “you’d rather not——”
“It’s all right, my dear,” replied Jane cordially. “We’re glad to let you have the eggs. I’ll get them right away. It won’t take me a second.”
She disappeared behind the paneled door at the end of the hall, and presently Mary and Eliza, who had loitered irresolutely, uncertain whether to go or stay, followed her.
Left to herself, Lucy looked idly across the sunny landscape. Against the sky line at the top of the hill she could see a tall, masculine figure delving in the garden.
“That must be Martin-the-Terrible,” she observed. “He doesn’t look like such an ogre.”
The banging of the door heralded Jane’s approach. She held in her hand a neatly tied package, and over her shoulders peered Mary and Eliza.