For the second time Margot beheld the real George Elgood denuded of his mask of shyness and reserve, and thrilled at the recognition. This sunny, stone-flagged kitchen seemed fated to be the scene of unexpected meetings! She would have retreated in haste, but at the sound of her entrance Mr Elgood jumped hastily to the floor, and Mrs McNab authoritatively waved her forward. "Here she is to speak for herself! Come yer ways, Miss Vane. I was saying to Mr Elgood that maybe he'd listen to your advice, as he willna tak' mine. You're a leddy, and ken how such things should be done, and if there's any call to waste the morning, and run into daft-like expense, when everything a reasonable body need want is lying ready to hand--" Margot looked from one to the other in bewilderment, her spirits rising with the discovery that for the first time in their short acquaintance the Editor met her glance with an expression of relief rather than of dread. He was smiling still, and the boyish look lingered on his face, making him appear an absolutely different creature from the grave, formidable hermit to whom she was accustomed. Margot's eyes danced, and she answered as naturally as if she had been speaking to Ron himself. "I don't know in the least what I am giving an opinion about--but I am not a `reasonable body,' and as a rule the result of `daft-like expense' is very nice! I'm afraid that isn't what you wanted me to say, Mrs McNab, but I must be honest. Perhaps I may feel differently when I know what I am talking about." "Your picnic!" cried Mrs McNab. "My picnic!" corrected the Editor. "I never gave a picnic before, and I'm weighed down by responsibility. My brother refuses to help me, and Mrs McNab is a Spartan, and nips my suggestions in the bud. She thinks we ought to be satisfied with bread and butter; I want cakes and fruit; I want her to bake, and she says she has no time to bake; I want to send over to Rew on the chance of getting strawberries; she says she has no one to send. If you agree with me, Miss Vane, perhaps she will make time; I know by experience that she is always better than her word!" Mrs McNab sniffed ironically. "There's scones for ye, and good fresh butter--what do ye want forbye? Ye'd get nae mair if ye were at hame, and it's not going to kill ye, walking a couple of miles. I've something else to do on a Thursday morning than waste my time messing over things that aren't needed." Mr Elgood leant against the dresser, and surveyed her more in sorrow than in anger. "Now what have you to do?" he demanded. "It's absurd to pretend that there is anything to clean, because you never give a thing a chance to become dirty. There is cold meat for lunch, as you yourself informed me, so there's no cooking on hand. This house goes by machinery, with Elspeth to stoke up the motive power. What can be left for you? I can't think of a single thing."