“In the morning,” she suggested, “just for a few minutes before you begin your nice, quiet day? How would that do? We’re starting before nine, you know, so I’m afraid we shan’t be here to protect you, but we’ll leave Blenkinship’s Marget in charge. She’s very brave with all the one-foot-on-the-mat people, and she’ll simply stand on her head for a chance of nursing somebody, so I do hope you’ll lie on the sofa and let her bring you beaten-up eggs and things.” “And treacle-posset? I love treacle-posset!” Wiggie murmured happily, then got up quickly, dropping the teaspoon. He had heard a car turn in at the gate. “May I go and see her about it now?” But instead of seeing Marget, he slid silently through the old gun-room into the stable-yard, and shinned up the Jacob’s Ladder in the loose box to the loft above, and sat on a rusty old turnip-chopper and shivered in the dark until there had been time to rout the enemy’s attack. It was Dandy who caught Blenkinship’s Marget in the hall, and whispered instructions that set that warlike damsel yearning for battle. She was a little surprised to find two quite pleasant, if rather tired and troubled gentlemen on the doorstep, but her orders were definite. Yes, Mr. Wigmore had been in, and gone out again, leaving word for them to call and see him at eleven o’clock in the morning. Well, could they see the master, Mr. Shaw, or say, Mrs. Shaw, if there was one? They couldn’t. The master was up to his ears in letters for the post, and as to whether there was a mistress or not, that was none of _their_ business! How _was_ Mr. Wigmore? Alive and kicking, if they cared to know, and fit to stick up for himself against anybody, any day. No, they couldn’t come in and wait. They’d lost two silver candlesticks off the hall-table, that way, already--but they might leave cards if they had such things--considered doubtful. However, the cards were forthcoming, and the disappointed callers drew back on their tracks. Watters had received them odiously altogether. They had found difficulty in turning into the drive, to begin with, and, when once safely through, had nearly run into a wheelbarrow that some idiot had left in the middle of it. Then they had been allowed to shiver unregarded on the step, and afterwards treated with contumely. The gate that had refused to open when they entered, swung heavily on their tail-lamp as they drove out. Decidedly, this wasn’t their day. Blenkinship’s Marget, studying the cards with interest, found Wiggie at her shoulder, and handed them over, though under protest. “They said as they were for t’ master,” she explained, but Wiggie only smiled and began to talk about treacle-possets. It was just as well that Hamer shouldn’t see those cards.