On reaching the house, after safely bestowing the delinquent upon his mother’s care, Hazel sped across the marble-flagged hall, down one of the numerous passages and through a baize-covered swing-door, which shut off that portion of the house devoted to servants’ offices. She made her way to the kitchen, an old-fashioned stone kitchen, where sundry odours made apparent the circumstance that dinner was in preparation. The two village maids dropped curtsies, and Mrs. Doidge turned from the fire to welcome her young lady. "Will you kindly be seated, miss?" asked the ex-housekeeper. "Mattie, leave that bit of ironing and place the easy chair nearer the window for Miss Hazel." "No, Mrs. Doidge, thank you," Hazel interposed. "I cannot stay a moment. I only wanted some slices of bread and butter, rather thick, please, and a cup of tea, if you have boiling water. Mr. Teddie has come home, as I daresay Miles told you; but what do you think?—he has had no lunch." The three women were quickly in a bustle, many ejaculations of concern escaping Mrs. Doidge’s lips, in that Teddie, her pet and darling—next to Hazel, be it understood—should thus be famishing within these very walls. Hazel had no need to urge haste, and was presently bearing away a tray, followed by many remonstrances from Mrs. Doidge, who protested she could easily spare one of the maids on so short an errand. Teddie, whose quick ear caught the tap of Hazel’s little foot against the panels, rose to give her admittance, and hungrily eyed the food that he yet deemed it only decent to turn from in seeming disgust. "Just leave it near me," he said, in response to his sister’s pleading. "I may perhaps find I can nibble a piece of bread presently." Hazel had fully expected to find her mother and brother deep in conversation concerning the circumstance of his sudden, not to say precipitate, restoration to the bosom of his family; but the truth was that Teddie possessed very little information of which to deliver himself. It appeared that his _bête noire_, Carrots, had grievously insulted the young gentleman, nor him alone, but the ancient name of Le Mesurier, in grossest manner, such as no gentleman, let alone a Le Mesurier, could allow to pass and yet hope to retain his honour. Therefore had Teddie risen up in his wrath, and, with vengeful force, had smitten this enemy of his house, inflicting a black eye. The young man’s employer had at that moment made his appearance. We have the sequel of the story in the reappearance of poor Teddie at Hazelhurst on the day of his departure thence.