When they reached the cottage Mrs. Witchout stood in the doorway, anxiety writ large upon her wrinkled face and her nose more than usually rubicund. “Good mornin’, ma’am,” she said. “I was beginnin’ to worrit about the food. Cookin’s cookin’, I always says, and doin’ things to rags is ’nother thing. But you’re justin time, which is more than Mr. Maddison usually is.” “Mrs. Witchout keeps me in grand order, Marian, and if you want anything while you’re here, don’t ask me for it—I’m not boss of the show.” “That’s the way he always runs on; don’t take anynoticeofhim, I don’t. Would you like to go up to your room? It’s upstairs—if youcancall these stepladdery things stairs. This way, m’m.” Mrs. Witchout led the way upstairs, Maddison holding Marian back a minute to whisper to her: “By the way, you’re my _sister_! I’ve had a bed made up in the studio for myself. Don’t give the show away.” Marian laughed as she ran up, and Maddison turned into the living room. Everything was ready, the table neat, cozy and pretty, a covered dish and the plates warming by the fire, which blazed up cheerily; the lattice windows were thrown wide open and the sun streamed in warmly. “You don’t look much alike,” said Mrs. Witchout, coming in. “If you takes arter your father she must take arter her mother, and a ’andsome couple they must ’ave been, I’m thinkin’.” “Don’t try to flatter me, Mrs. Witchout,” Maddison answered, with a laugh, as he sat down on the window seat, watching her picking up the dish with the assistance of her apron. “It’s no use your coming over me and you mustn’t spoil her with compliments, though the biggest would have been to have told her that she is nearly as good-looking as I am.” “Lawks!” was Mrs. Witchout’s comment. “What a jolly little room!” exclaimed Marian, pausing in the doorway and looking round. “And what flowers! And the windows, wide open, just as if it was springtime. It feels like it.” “Yes—and termorrer you’ll have east winds and wet to bring out yer rheumattics, leastways my rheumattics, beggin’ pardon.” “Come along; I’m sure you’re hungry, Marian, everybody always is here. And Mrs. Witchout, you just be off! We’ll look after ourselves and won’t make your life a burden to you.” “I’ll go when I’m ready, Mr. Maddison, not afore.” “There, Marian, what did I tell you? You see what you can do.” “Don’t show him up my first day here, Mrs. Witchout; let him have his way, _for once_!” “For once! They always do say it’s your own fam’ly who knows least about yer! For once! He always do ’ave it.” So saying, Mrs. Witchout hustled from the room with a pretense of anger that was transparent. “At last!” Maddison strode across the room, laid his hands on Marian’s shoulders, holding her at arm’s length while he gazed at her. Then he drew her close to him, feverishly kissing her again and again, kissing her lips, her hair, her eyes. “Haven’t you a kiss for me, Marian?”