But since her lady’s death, Margaret had had no opportunity of seeing Stella, and it would have provoked comment and inquiry had she tried to do so now. Presently, however, when Ellen, the lady’s maid, gave vent to a grumbling remark that she “supposed some supper would have to be taken up to Miss Stella, since she hadn’t touched anything that day, and she must be kept alive somehow until she was married and done for,” it occurred to Margaret that her chance had come. Miss Cranstoun’s supper consisted of a wing of a bird, some Camembert cheese and salad, and some Burgundy in a decanter, the doctor having ordered her that wine. Margaret decided intuitively that even if Stella ate nothing, long fasting would have made her so faint that she would probably sip a glass of wine. Risking detection, therefore, she contrived to slip the piece of folded paper she had received from Stephen under the decanter under pretence of smoothing the cloth under the tray in passing. Only Stephen Lee saw her do it; not much escaped his keen gypsy eyes. But in order to complete her work it was necessary that Ellen’s attention should be turned in some other direction than the tray she was about to carry up to her mistress, and towards that end he suddenly made a remark in an awkward shamefaced manner, all the more effective because it appeared spontaneous and genuine. “If I was Lord Carthew,” he said, “it’s not the missus I’d be after, but the maid.” The lie almost choked him as he mentally contrasted the limp, round back, colorless eyes, and retreating chin of Ellen with the willowy, supple form, delicate features, and luminous eyes of his adorable cousin. But the lady’s maid herself saw no inappropriateness in the compliment, which was the more valuable as the young gamekeeper seldom joined the kitchen circle and had never before paid the least attention to any of the women. Ellen therefore bridled with pride and satisfaction as she caught up the supper-tray and made her way to Miss Cranstoun’s room in the turret, the door of which was opened to her by Dakin. “What a time you’ve been!” exclaimed the latter. “I’ve been just longing to get down to my supper.” “Young Stephen Lee’s been in the servants’ hall,” said Ellen, in a loud whisper, and Stella, hearing the words, listened with all her ears. “Lor’, he’s that complimentary,” giggled Ellen. “Says he, ‘If I was Lord Carthew,’ he says, ‘it’s not the mistress I’d be after, but the maid.’ I got that hot and uncomfortable at the way he said it and looked at me that I had to ketch up the tray and run upstairs out of the way. It never seemed to me he was a marrying sort of man; but there, perhaps he was only waiting until Miss Right came along.”