The next morning the preparations for the little dinner were in hurried progress, Lucy busily working with gloomy resignation, and the kitchen given over to the woman who had come to cook. Then the large covered cart from Brackley drew up to the gate, and upon Eliza going down, the man who drove helped her to unbar the great gates, and led his horse in and right round to the kitchen door. He was the bearer of a note for Mrs Alleyne, and while Eliza had taken it in, and the recipient was reading it, to afterwards hand it over to Lucy, Sir John's man began unloading the cart in the most matter-of-fact way, and arranging things upon the kitchen dresser. "What does he say, that he begs your pardon, and knowing that we have no garden, would we accept a few trifles of flowers and a little fruit?" Mrs Alleyne frowned, and the shadow on her countenance deepened after Sir John's man had departed with the cart, for the trifles sent over were a magnificent collection of cut flowers, with grapes, a pine, hot-house peaches, and nectarines and plums. Lucy coloured with pleasure, for all was most thoughtfully contrived. Even choice leaves in a neat bunch were included, ready for decorating the fruit in the dessert dishes. But directly after she could not help sharing her mother's annoyance--it seemed so like looking upon them as poor. "It is almost an insult," said Mrs Alleyne at last. Lucy looked up at her wistfully, with the cloud now crossing her own bright little face. "It is because we live in so humble a manner," cried Mrs Alleyne, angrily. "It is cruel--a display of arrogance--because I choose to live quietly that Moray may proceed with his great discoveries in science." Lucy gazed at her mother's face, in which she could read the growing anger and mortification. "Oh, I wish Moray had not been so ready to invite them," she said to herself. "The things shall go back," exclaimed Mrs Alleyne at last. "Oh, mamma," whispered Lucy, clinging to her and trying to calm her anger, "don't--pray don't say that. It is only a present of fruit and flowers, after all." "You will not send the things back, mamma." Mrs Alleyne was silent for a few moments, and then said huskily,-- "No: they shall remain, but Moray must not know; and mind this, Lucy, when they come there is sure to be an offer for the man-servant to stop and wait. This must be declined." "Oh, yes, mamma," cried Lucy, excitedly, as she began to imagine Sir John's footman being witness of the shifts made in re-washing plates, and forks, and spoons. "We must submit to the insult, I suppose. I cannot resent it for Moray's sake. They are his guests, and must be treated with respect."