She leaned back languidly in her chair; and somehow the thought struck Margery that she had never seen the little room look so small and shabby before. The delicate gleam of Vane’s white garments contrasted strongly with her own dingy, dust-stained black dress; the placid beauty of Miss Charteris’ face brought back the thrill of pain to her heart. How different they were! Who was she, to compete with such a woman? She roused herself from her thoughts as she met Vane’s cold, clear eyes watching her. “I beg your pardon,” she said, quickly, yet with unspeakable grace. “You have had a long drive; may I give you a cup of tea--or perhaps you would prefer some milk?” She moved toward an inner room; but Vane stopped her. “Neither, thank you,” she replied, coldly--she was growing more and more annoyed every moment. She was being treated with every courtesy, with all regard for etiquette, as though her hostess were a duchess instead of a common village girl! It was insupportable; she must hasten to break down that calm exterior which irritated her beyond measure. “Neither, thank you,” she repeated; “I shall not stay long. It is, as you say, a tedious drive; but my cousin, Stuart Crosbie, wished me to see you.” She bent her head to look at her flounce, but not before she had seen the girl’s slight frame wince and her cheeks grow paler. “That shot went home!” she told herself. Margery stood immovable, her hand still grasping the chair. A few moments before, she had thought it impossible to suffer greater mental pain than she had endured; now she was experiencing pangs still greater, for her wound was being probed. Weak, faint from want of food as she was, she determined to be brave, to stand firm before this woman--her rival. “I scarcely know how to begin,” continued Vane, with well-assumed kindness and concern. “It’s a delicate subject; yet I could not well refuse Stuart.” She hesitated for an instant, then held out her well-gloved hand. “Miss Daw,” she said, impulsively, “will you forgive me if anything I may say in the course of our conversation should vex you? I would not, indeed, willingly cause you any pain.” Margery’s eyes were fixed on the golden-tinted trees beyond the garden; she did not notice the outstretched hand. “Why should you cause me pain?” she asked, in reply. “There is nothing in common between you and me.” Vane let her hand drop to her side; her face flushed. Could she never shake this girl’s control? “I am glad you judge me rightly,” she responded, “for I am here and have been much distressed by my errand. Stuart has asked me, Miss Daw, to express to you his sincere sympathy in the loss you have sustained by the death of Mrs. Morris. He begs me to tell you that he trusts you will apply at the castle now that you are left without a guardian. He has enlisted his mother’s goodwill on your behalf, and he sends you this sum to assist toward anything you may require.”