"Well, my dear, how are you?" she said, as Elsa approached, and held out a timid hand; "and is this your little friend?" And the old lady looked approvingly at the pretty, childish face and simple attire of the vicar’s little daughter. "But how is it you have arrived alone? Where are Monica and your sister?" "Oh, Mrs. Beauchamp, we can’t think what they are doing!" And Elsa told the whole story of what had occurred that afternoon, at least, as far as the present state of affairs was concerned; finishing up by saying, "We wouldn’t have been so long, indeed we wouldn’t, if we had known how late it was. I am almost sorry, now, that we went all the way with the old woman, but we thought it was right at the time." And Elsa’s eyes filled with tears. "You did quite right, children, no one could blame you," said Mrs. Beauchamp, more kindly than Monica ever heard her speak. "I am only sorry that my granddaughter did not wish to act as you did." And the old lady sighed as she thought of the difference between self-pleasing, self-willed Monica, and this nice-speaking, unselfish girl; and the advantage was all on Elsa’s side. "The thing to be considered is, where are they now?" "Do you think they might still be waiting for us?" queried Amethyst, who had been a silent spectator so far. "Shall we go back and see?" Mrs. Beauchamp smiled. "I think we can manage better than that," she said. "I will send a messenger to the gate in West Lane, in case they should be there, and we will have some tea, for I am sure you must be thirsty after hurrying so, on this hot day. I quite expect that before very long they will come rushing in." The two girls were very glad to wash their hands and smooth their dishevelled hair; and Amethyst was delighted to see Monica’s room (where Barnes had taken them) for the first time. Then they went into the dining-room, where a sumptuous repast had been spread for the quartette, Mrs. Beauchamp knowing something, from experience, of young people’s appetites. If it had not been for the suspense about the other girls, Elsa and Amethyst would have enjoyed themselves immensely. Mrs. Beauchamp was so very kind, and made herself quite agreeable to these two well-behaved girls; indeed Amethyst, who was light-hearted by nature, almost forgot the unfortunate ending to their picnic, but Elsa was unable to banish the thought from her mind that something must have happened to them to cause such delay, and she could see that Mrs. Beauchamp was very much worried, although she strove to entertain her little guests cheerfully. "You are not making much of a tea, my dear. Try one of these," and Mrs. Beauchamp held a plate of delicious looking macaroons toward Elsa. "No, thank you, I don’t feel as if I could eat another mouthful." And Elsa’s tears, which had been very near the surface for some time, rained down her cheeks, while a sob choked her voice.