He looked up with quick indignation. But before he could speak the curtain was drawn and Lena appeared. "Are you coming to tea?" she asked, taking them both in with a long look. "That sweet thing you brought to me just now and I are waiting for you." She went up to Mr. Vincent and held out her hand. "I have heard so much of you," she said, with perfect self-possession, "and often wished to see you." She opened her large, dark eyes as if to show that they were full of appreciation. "This is your daughter, I suppose?" he asked her mother. The question was so like Gerald, Mrs. Lakeman thought; he always made sure of even his most trivial facts. "Yes, this is my daughter--my ewe lamb, my Lena." She put her arm round Lena's shoulders, and once more there was a thrill in her voice; but still he failed to respond. He looked at them both with a little embarrassment, dramatic situations were beyond him, and he had not the faintest notion what to do next. Mrs. Lakeman smiled inwardly. The man was a perfect idiot, she thought. "Go, darling," she said, "we are coming." Lena gave Mr. Vincent another of her long, intense looks as she turned away. "Do come," she said; "I am longing to hear you talk." "It's very kind of you, but I don't know that I have anything to say." The suspicion of patronage in her manner amused him, but it irritated him too, and he wanted to get out of the house. Mrs. Lakeman made a step towards the curtains through which her daughter had disappeared, then stopped, and, as if with a last great effort she had gathered courage, said, "Tell me one thing--is Margaret like her mother?" He considered for a moment before he answered. "I think she is," he said, slowly. "She has the same eyes and mouth, and the same distinction of carriage." "Oh!" The exclamation was almost ironical. Then they went to the dim room with the overpowering scent of flowers. Lena was making tea, while Margaret surveyed the arrangements with great interest. They were so different from any she had seen before. At Woodside Farm a cloth was spread over the oak table in the middle of the room, a loaf and a large pat of butter, a substantial cake, jam, and such other things as might help to make a serviceable meal were set out. Occasionally a savory dish of ham and eggs appeared, or of chicken fried in batter, of which the cooking was a matter of pride to Hannah; plates and knives were put round for each person, and chairs drawn up; altogether it was a much more business-like but far less elegant affair than this dainty one over which Lena presided. "Good-bye, Margaret dear," Mrs. Lakeman said to her ten minutes later; "you don't know what it has been to me to see you," and she kissed her on either cheek. "You must come and stay with us some day. Gerald, you will let her come, won't you?" "Certainly, if she wishes it."