She was half inclined to go back by the next train when she heard from the stationmaster that they were gone to Guilford and would not be back till late. But on second thoughts she determined to go on to Woodcote. Wilmot would be there, at any rate. She would be able to find out how her aunt was. She had the warmest of greetings from the old cook and housekeeper, whom she found at the linen press upstairs, carefully examining her store of lavender-scented linen. “Your aunt will be dreadfully disappointed, Miss Rosie. What a pity you didn’t come a little earlier! You could ha’ gone to Guilford with them. They’ve gone about the new greenhouse Mr. Tom is going to build. But come down to the dining-room, my dearie, and I’ll get you some tea.” “No, no; finish what you were about,” returned Rose, settling herself in the window-seat. The linen press stood on a wide landing that had a window looking on the garden. It had always been a favourite spot with Rose; in the deep-cushioned window-seat she had spent many a happy afternoon. The linen press was of old oak, almost as old as the house. And opposite it stood a finely-carved dower-chest with the date 1511 carved upon it. The landing-floor, like the stairs, was of polished oak, and the wainscoted walls had one or two old pictures on them. Rose looked round her, feeling as she had never felt before the beauty of her home. How fresh it was, and roomy! And what a delicious scent of lavender came from the old linen press! “What are you doing, Wilmot? I wish you would let me help you.” “No, thank you, my dearie. I’ve got what I wanted. It’s this tablecloth Miss Sampson is going to darn for me. She’s the cleverest young lady with her needle I ever came across, and that anxious to be useful.” “Then you like her?” asked Rose. She could not help a certain stiffness getting into her voice when she mentioned Rhoda, though she was ready to laugh at herself for being jealous of her aunt’s companion. “Nobody could help liking her, Miss Rosie. It’s just like having a bit o’ sunshine in the house. The mistress would ha’ missed you bad enough if she hadn’t had Miss Sampson to cheer her up. But nobody could feel lonely with her about. And it’s wonderful what she knows about a garden.” “Do they have gardens in Australia?” asked Rose. It was the sort of remark Pauline might have made. But Rose was feeling very cross. Wilmot did not notice the spitefulness in her voice. “They seem to have lovely gardens out there, my dearie. Miss Sampson was telling me of the different flowering trees they’ve got when she was in the kitchen on Tuesday. I’d promised to show her how to make those drop cakes you’re so fond of, Miss Rosie. But I’ll go and see about your tea. I wish you’d come this morning. The mistress was saying only yesterday that she was longing to see you.”