Two days passed, and the earl announced his intention of going down to his tenants at the end of the week. They were two peaceful, pleasant days, and Margery found much to occupy her. She would have remained in her own room during her spare moments if Lady Enid would have allowed it, but, with pretty tyranny, the invalid refused any such concession, and so Margery brought her painting into the boudoir. Lady Enid seemed never tired of watching her as she sat bending over her canvas, and every now and then she would touch her brother gently, and by a sign call his attention to the girl’s beauty. Margery liked Lord Court. She was pleased at the graceful deference he showed her, and happy because of the joy his presence brought to Lady Enid. He was a most agreeable companion; his wanderings about the world had provided him with a fund of anecdote and information, and Margery listened delightedly to his voice, though her heart would sink at times at the memory of that other who had spoken of the same scenes. She found that the earl was an artist of more than ordinary ability, and was grateful to him for his many hints, entering into long discussions with a zest that delighted Lady Enid. The earl, too, found it a strange pleasure to listen to her, and he would start a conversation simply for the sake of hearing her speak, and to watch the ever-changing expression of her sweet face. He gave himself up now entirely to his sister; his fears were banished, her own hopefulness kindled his, and the delicate flush that appeared on her white cheeks led him to believe that her strength was returning. Margery, too, shared his eager delight in Lady Enid’s recovery; yet amid it all she could not repress a vague feeling of discomfort sometimes, and alarm would rise unbidden when she looked up quickly and saw the unspeakable sadness in Lady Enid’s face; but she kept her fears to herself, and, indeed, dismissed them as fancies when she heard the brother and sister laughing and chatting together. Lord Court was absent a week, but he sent dispatches daily to town, with hampers of flowers and fruit. The two girls were ardent lovers of flowers, and Margery would flit about arranging them till the room was scarcely recognizable. On the day of the earl’s return she began the pleasant task of decorating, and, when all the vases were filled, she turned to Lady Enid with the great clusters that remained in her hand. “Shall I send these up to Lady Merivall, Enid?” she asked--by Lady Enid’s special desire she discarded the title when speaking to her friend and mistress. “Aunt Hannah!” Lady Enid laughed. “Oh, she cannot bear flowers, Margery! She would declare that we wished to kill her if we put them in her room!” Margery buried her face in the flowers. “How I pity her!” she said, slowly. “To me they are as life itself. Yet, do you know, Enid, sometimes the thought comes to me that we are cruel when we cut the blossoms off so ruthlessly--they die so soon.”