Margery bit her lip and hesitated for a moment, then the memory of the poor sick woman at home came to her. If she offended madame, mother would have no more delicacies, so, without another word, she stepped in and was driven briskly out of the village. She sat very quiet beside the shy groom, and, opening her book, a collection of short German stories, soon lost her vexation in their delights. Mrs. Crosbie was unduly pleased with herself for bringing this girl to her level, and she was determined to lose no opportunity of continuing it in the future. As they stopped at the lodge gates she turned to Margery: “Get down and go along that path to the back part of the house, and wait in the kitchen till I send for you.” Margery obediently descended, and turned down the sidepath as the ponies started off along the sweeping avenue to the castle entrance. Why was madame so stern and Mr. Stuart so kind? Margery pondered as she walked on. Had she done anything wrong? Her mind accused her of no fault; she could therefore arrive at no solution of the mystery. The path she was following was one used by the gardeners, and she soon arrived at a small gate, which, on opening, led her to the paddock and kitchen gardens. Margery toiled through the heat up to the courtyard, and, after crossing this, entered a large door standing wide open. The cook and her handmaidens were indulging in five-o’clock tea, and the mistress of the kitchen rose with genial hospitality to press her visitor to partake of some, too. “Now, do!” she urged, as Margery shook her head. “You look fair fagged out.” “No, thank you, Mrs. Drew,” Margery said, simply; unconsciously she recoiled from accepting anything that came from Mrs. Crosbie. “I am not really tired. Madame has driven me here from the village. I am to take some things back to mother. If you don’t mind, I will wait outside--it is rather hot in here.” “Ay, do, child,” the cook answered; and she handed out a large stool. “Put this just in the doorway, and you’ll catch a little draught.”