"I know this," she said, "that it was a bad day for me when he first walked through Chidhurst village to Woodside farm." "Mother," said Margaret, turning round, "some one has come to the house by the church. I passed it this morning and saw the luggage going in. Mr. Carringford said that Sir George was going to lend it from a Saturday to Monday to some friends of father's. Perhaps they have come." "More of his fine feathers," said Hannah, contemptuously. "It's a pity he was left plucked so long." "Hannah, be quiet," Mrs. Vincent said, sternly. "Go to your work, and don't come to me again till you have learned respect for those who are better than yourself." It was almost a command, but Mrs. Vincent had been roused into her old self again--the self of bygone years. Luckily Towsey appeared on the scene. "Sandy wants to know whether he's to be here to-morrow to take Mr. Garratt's horse. You said something about his not coming." Hannah hurried out to speak to the old cowman who usually waited for Mr. Garratt's mare on Sunday morning before going to church. "Mr. Garratt won't be over early to-morrow," she said. "He's driving a trap from Guildford, and it'll take him all he knows to get here by dinner-time. If you come up after church, Sandy, it'll do." This was an arrangement Mr. Garratt had made, rather to Hannah's surprise, on his last visit. It would be better than the train, he had explained; but it was a long way, and it would be impossible for him to arrive before the middle of the day. XVI Margaret had guessed rightly. Mrs. Lakeman and Lena, and Dawson Farley, who, as usual, was with them, were at Sir George Stringer's house from Saturday to Monday, while Sir George himself was at Folkestone with his sister. Dawson Farley rejoiced in the absence of their host, for he had wanted a talk with Mrs. Lakeman, and this visit promised to give him a good opportunity. He was deliberating within himself as they sat together after luncheon how he should begin it. Lena had slipped away, and wriggled among the greenery. "We'll go over to the farm presently," Mrs. Lakeman said. "I want to see what the woman with the look of distinction is like," she added, with the crooked smile peculiar to her. "Gerald faced it out very well, but I expect he is frightfully bored." "Why did he marry her?" Mrs. Lakeman shrugged her shoulders. "Poor chap, he didn't care what became of him; but it wasn't my fault--'pon my word it wasn't, Dawson. My father made an awful row." Mrs. Lakeman was always a trifle slangy.