Stevens did not, indeed, make any reply, but a sound of consternation burst from him, a suspiration of forced breath, which Patty accepted as assent. Margaret was standing at a little distance speechless, an image of confusion and embarrassment. She knew no more than the servants what to do. Gervase’s wife--as there was no reason to doubt this woman was--how could Gervase’s cousin oppose her? Margaret had no rights--no position in the household; but the wife of Gervase had certainly rights, however inopportune might be the moment at which she chose to assert them. Mrs. Osborne, however, started violently when she herself was addressed with engaging friendliness. “Won’t you come and have some tea? No? are you going? Then, will you please tell Gervase that tea is here, and I am waiting for him?” Patty said. Margaret withdrew from the room as if a shot had been fired at her. Her confusion and helplessness were so great that they went beyond anything like resentment. She was almost overawed by the boldness of the intruder and the impossibility of the situation. Gervase stood in the doorway, excited and pleased, shouting for the carriages, talking about the horses to whoever would talk with him. She was glad of some excuse for calling him, taking him by the arm. Certainly he would be better anywhere than there. “Gervase,” she said, “tell me, is that your wife who is in the library?” “Eh? What do you say, Meg? Patty? Why, of course! What did you think she could be? Patty! look here, you come and tell Meg----” “Hush, Gervase, she wants you to go to her. Tea is ready, and she is waiting for you. Now go, Gervase, go--do go!” “She’s come over Meg, too!” said Gervase to himself with a chuckle; and, fortunately, his amusement in that, and the impulse of his cousin’s touch on his arm, and the new suggestion which, whatever it happened to be, was always powerful with him, made him obey the call which now came out shrilly over the other noises from the library door. “Gervase! Gervase! I’m waiting for you for tea.” Margaret crossed the hall into the morning-room, with a grave face. The consternation which was in her whole aspect moved Colonel Piercey, who followed her, to a short laugh. “What is to be done?” he said. “Oh, nothing, nothing that I know of! Of course she is Gervase’s wife--she has a right to be here. I don’t know what my poor uncle will say--but I told you before he would be talked over.” “She showed herself very ready and with all her wits about her, at the door.” “Yes,” said Margaret. “She has a great deal of sense, I have always heard. It may not be a bad thing after all.” “It frightens you, however,” Colonel Piercey said. “Not frightens but startles me--very much: and then, poor Aunt Piercey! Poor Aunt Piercey! her only child, and on her funeral day.” “She was not a wise mother, I should imagine.”