Celia declared that she preferred a walk, and a little later she started out, somewhat reluctantly, with Roddy close at her heels. It was a delicious morning; the feeling of the coming summer was in the air, the larks were singing joyously above the moorland, as if they, too, were revelling in the bright sunlight, the clean, keen air, the scent of the gorse with which it was perfumed. Celia could scarcely refrain from singing; she walked quickly, and sometimes, to Roddy's delight, she ran races with him. She came to the end of the moor at last, and swung down to the high road, followed it for some time and presently came to two cross-roads. She was hesitating which to take, when a small phaeton, drawn by an Exmoor pony, came rolling towards her. In the phaeton was an old lady with white hair and a pleasant countenance; she had very sharp eyes and a smile that was a trifle cynical. At sight of the young girl, with the brilliant eyes and the healthily flushed cheeks, she stopped the pony and looked at Celia curiously. Celia felt as if she must speak to everyone that morning, so she went up to the tiny carriage and asked how far it was, by the road, to Thexford Hall. "Oh, I see," said the old lady. "I was wondering who you were. You are the young lady who has come to the Hall as librarian. Let me see, what is your name?" Celia told her. "And a very pretty one, too," said the old lady, with a short nod. "I'm called Gridborough. You've walked six miles, and must be tired," she continued. "You ought to have a rest. Get in and I'll drive you to my house; you can have some lunch with me." As they entered a long drive, bordered by tall elms, Celia saw a small cottage set back a little way from the road. A young woman, with a pale face and sad-looking blue eyes, was standing at the gate with a baby in her arms. As the phaeton drove up, a faint colour came to her white face; she dropped a little curtsy and was turning away, but stopped when the old lady called to her. The young woman approached, with an air of timidity, of passive obedience, which was as pathetic as her eyes. "Well, how is the baby, Susie?" asked her ladyship. "He is quite well, now, my lady," replied the girl, in a low, toneless voice. "That's right. I thought he'd soon pull round; it's the wonderful air. Let me look at him." She took the baby from the young woman's arms, which yielded him slowly and reluctantly. "Oh, yes, he is looking famously." "What a pretty baby!" Celia exclaimed, bending over the child with all a young girl's rapture. "It's a darling." The young mother's pale face flushed, and the faded blue eyes grew radiant for a moment, as she raised them gratefully to Celia's face; but the flush, the radiance, vanished almost instantly, and the face became patient and sad again. "You must try to get some of the baby's roses in your own cheeks, Susie," said her ladyship, peering at the girl.