"Margaret has told me about it so often," Mrs. Vincent said, and Tom, turning to look at her while she spoke, realized suddenly that this mother of Margaret, who had grown old and gray, was beautiful. He looked round the living-room; his eyes lingered on the black beams and the great fireplace and the red-tiled floor; it made a peaceful picture, he thought, in spite of the ogress. "Did she tell you about Miss Hunstan?" he asked. "It was rather lucky coming across her." "She told me all about her," Mrs. Vincent answered, "and how you went to her rooms and put the flowers into the pots. It made me hope--that, and what my husband told me--that some day you would come and see us here." "Thank you," he said, simply. "Who is Miss Hunstan?" asked Hannah. Tom answered, beamingly, "Why, Louise Hunstan, the actress, you know!" "I didn't know, Mr. Carringford. I don't hold with theatres or any such places, and I was surprised at Mr. Vincent taking Margaret to one. I can't see that people are any the better--" She stopped, for there were footsteps on the pathway outside, and a moment later Mr. Garratt walked in with an air of being quite at home. "How do you do, everybody?" he said. He wore his best clothes and the spats over his shoes. The handkerchief in his breast-pocket was scented more than usual. He took it out and shook it and put it back again, while a whiff of white rose floated over the table. His hair was tightly curled at the tips; he ran his fingers through it as he took off his bowler hat. "We didn't expect you, Mr. Garratt," Hannah said with sudden graciousness, and made room for him beside her. "Didn't know you had company," he answered, jauntily. "I hope I don't intrude? Mrs. Vincent, how do you do? Miss Margaret, your humble servant," and reluctantly he sat down beside Hannah. "This is Mr. Carringford, a friend of my husband's," Mrs. Vincent told her visitor. "How d'ye do?" Tom looked up and nodded. "How d'ye do?" Mr. Garratt nodded back, trying to do it easily. "Thought it was Sir George Stringer at first till I recollected that he was a middle-ager." "We didn't expect you to-day, Mr. Garratt," Hannah remarked, pouring out his tea. "I told Miss Vincent I should come." He looked across at Margaret, determined to show off before the stranger. "I don't remember that you did--" Margaret began. "Oh, come now, you knew I wanted to bring you that book of poems I told you about. You shall have it if you're good." "You had better give it to Hannah, Mr. Garratt. She will appreciate it more than I shall. I had no idea that you meant to bring it." Tom looked up and wondered what it all meant. "Well, but what did I say the other night?" "I don't know," Margaret answered, coldly. "I never remember the things you say."