"The excuse she makes to us is that she wanted a daily service." "A year ago papa took to hold daily service, and he had to discontinue it, for no one attended. Very often there would be only himself and the clerk." "I do not suppose this affair of Theresa's will last," said Lucy, kindly, as she took her leave, and went home. Karl was out at luncheon, but they all three met at dinner: he, Lucy, and Miss Blake. Lucy told him of her visit to Margaret Sumnor, and asked him to go there with her on his return from London, whither he was proceeding on the morrow. Miss Blake had not heard of the intention before, and inquired of Sir Karl whether he was going for long. "For a couple of days; perhaps three," he answered. "I have several matters of business to attend to." "I think I might as well have gone with you, Karl," said his wife. "Not this time, Lucy. You have only just come home from travelling, you know, and need repose." Miss Blake, having previously taken her determination to do it, mentioned, in a casual, airy kind of way, her adventure of the morning: not however giving to the intrusion quite its true aspect, and not saying that she had seen the young lady. She had "strolled accidentally" into the place called the Maze, she said, seeing the gate open, and lost herself. A woman servant came to her assistance and let her out again; but not before she had caught a glimpse of the interior: the pretty house and lawn and flowers, and the infirm old gardener. To Miss Blake's surprise--or, rather, perhaps not to her surprise--Sir Karl's pale face turned to a burning red. He made her no answer, but whisked his head round to the butler, who stood behind him. "Hewitt," he cried sharply, "this is not the same hock that we had yesterday." "Yes, Sir Karl, it is. At least I--I believe it is." Hewitt took up the bottle on the sideboard and examined it. Miss Blake thought he looked as confused as his master. "He plays tricks with the wine," was the mental conclusion she drew. Hewitt came round, grave as ever, and filled up the glasses again. Karl began talking to him, about the wine in the cellar: but Miss Blake was not going to let her subject drop. "Do you know this place that they call the Maze, Sir Karl?" "Scarcely." "Or its mistress, Mrs. Grey?" "I have seen her," shortly replied Karl. "Oh, have you! When?" "She wrote me a note relative to some repairs that were required, and I went over." "Since you were back this time, do you mean?" "Oh no. It was just after my mother's death." "Don't you think it very singular that so young a woman should be living there alone?" "I suppose she likes it. The husband is said to be abroad." "You have no acquaintance with the people?" persisted Miss Blake. "Oh dear no." "And going in with a key from his own pocket!" thought Miss Blake, as she drew in her lips.