The sight of that other girl, so different from herself, had brought a strange, sharp pang, but that was lost in the pain she endured when she thought that Stuart had agreed with the cruel remark, and that his friendship was gone forever. She wended her way along the paddock, and was turning through the gate to enter the gardeners’ path again, when a hand was stretched out from beside her, took the basket from her, and, putting a finger under her chin, raised her head from its drooping position. “Well?” said Stuart, quietly. “Give me my basket, please, Mr. Stuart,” Margery murmured, hurriedly, a crimson wave of color dyeing her cheeks. “What for?” asked the young man, calmly. “I must get home. I am very late as it is.” “Well, why don’t you go?” Stuart inquired, watching the color fade from her cheeks. “I cannot go without my basket,” Margery answered, trying to be at her ease. “Please give it to me, Mr. Stuart.” “No,” he answered, briefly. “Then I must go without it!” she exclaimed; and, suiting the action to the word, she began to move down the path. Stuart followed at once, and put a detaining hand on her arm. “Here is your basket, Margery. I was only teasing you. What a time you have been! I have been waiting here for you for the last five minutes.” Margery’s heart grew lighter again. “You might have been better employed,” she returned, with the quaint sharpness Stuart always admired. “But, if you have time to waste, I have not. Listen! There--it is striking six, and mother will wonder what has become of me.” “Yes, that is six,” observed Mr. Crosbie, listening to the clock chiming from the castle. “You will get home by seven, Margery, if you start at once. Not that way!”--as she turned again down the path. “This is nearly half a mile nearer.” He pushed open the gate and motioned her into the paddock again. “Now,” he continued, slinging the basket on his arm and turning beside her across the field, “why are you cross with me, Miss Margery?” “I am not cross with you,” Margery answered, hurriedly. “Not now, perhaps; but you were.” Margery was silent. “What was it, Margery?” he asked, gently. “I heard what that lady said about me just now,” she replied, after a pause; “and--and----” “You are angry with me. That is hardly fair--rough on an old friend, you know.” “I thought you might have----” She stopped. “Agreed with her. You ought to know me better than that, Margery.” The grave tones went to her heart. “Oh, forgive me!” she cried. “It was wrong; but--she is so beautiful, and I----” “You are----” “Only a village girl beside her.” “I wonder if you know how different you are from her?” Stuart said, quietly. Margery’s face flushed. “I never felt I was--common till to-day,” she answered. “Margery!” She looked up quickly. Mr. Crosbie checked his words and laughed a little constrainedly. “You must not grow vain,” he said. “Am I vain? I will remember another time,” she responded, gravely.