"Hallo! are you back? Thank goodness for that. I was just looking out for you."

No answer. The footsteps came to a momentary pause, then crunched on again quicker than before. Jack cleared his throat and roared still louder--

"I say, I'm here! Don't go without me; I'm alone; I want to go up to the house."

Silence still; another pause and then a deliberate walk onwards, which roused Jack to veritable anger. This was evidently not Ruth but Mollie, and Mollie must be taught that there was a point when a joke ceased to be a joke, and that, bound or free, Jack Melland must be obeyed. When he spoke again his voice was not loud any longer, but cuttingly cold and severe.

"Will you kindly come here and unloose my chair; I refuse to be kept a prisoner any longer."

The footsteps paused abruptly; the swish of a silken skirt came across the gra.s.s, and a woman's clear, high-bred voice cried abruptly--

"A prisoner! Oh, what is the matter? Please tell me what I can do. I would have stopped at once, but I did not think you could possibly be talking to me."

Jack looked up in amaze, and beheld a tall girl clad in grey, a little head beautifully poised on an unusually long neck, and a pale, oval face, out of which looked a pair of deep, violet eyes. The stranger was not beautiful, not even pretty, but in the way she spoke, in the way she moved, in the way she stood looking at him, with the folds of her dress held together in one slender hand, there was an air of distinction which marked her out from the ordinary run of womankind.

Jack felt overcome with embarra.s.sment as he remembered his imperious summons, and so much at a loss to explain his predicament that for a few moments he could not find words, but just lay back in his chair staring at her with horrified eyes.

The stranger evidently perceived his embarra.s.sment, for she came a step forwards and said tactfully--

"I think you must be Mr Melland. May I introduce myself? My name is Margot Blount I have been lunching at the vicarage, and took the opportunity of calling upon Miss Farrell before the carriage comes back for me at five o'clock. I shall be so glad if I can be of any service to you _en route_."

"Thank you; you are very kind. I am awfully sorry that I should have shouted at you in that threatening way," said Jack, smiling in his most fascinating manner, and he could be remarkably fascinating upon occasion. "The truth is I am a cripple at present with a sprained ankle, and my--er--attendant has chosen to run away, and leave me tied up to this tree. I was getting tired and impatient, hence the summons."

"Ah," exclaimed Lady Margot, smiling, "I can guess who the attendant was! Miss Mollie Farrell, was it not? I have heard so much of her from Mrs Thornton that I am quite longing to see her. Is she at home this afternoon--and her sister?"

"I am not sure about Miss Farrell; she went out for a walk after lunch; but in any case she is sure to return very soon. Miss Mollie is-- somewhere! It is impossible to be more explicit. Probably some of the servants will be able to find her for you."

"I hope so, but first what can I do for you? Shall I untie this noose and set you free?"

"Thank you; I should be much obliged. Then, perhaps, you would kindly ask the butler to send someone to bring me in. I shall hope to see you later on."

Lady Margot rustled to the back of the chair, and bent over the knotted handkerchief. It was tied as if the knots were never intended to be undone, and presently she paused to take off her gloves before attacking it again, while Jack expostulated and apologised for the trouble he was giving. Finally, regardless of her light draperies, Lady Margot knelt down on the ground so as to work more conveniently, and in the midst of her efforts a saucy face peered suddenly round the corner of a tree a few yards distant, and Mollie hove into sight, with head thrown back and arms a-kimbo in would-be threatening att.i.tude. From her position Jack's broad shoulders hid from view the grey figure behind the chair, and he guessed as much, and took a wicked delight in the thought.

"Well, Mr Melland, I hope you feel refreshed by your slumbers, and have awakened in a better frame of mind," cried Mollie loftily. "Will you say you are sorry, and be taken to have tea on the terrace, or be obstinate and stay here by your lonesome little self?"

"Neither, thank you; I have been fortunate enough to find a friend in need, so am no longer dependent on your good offices. Allow me to introduce you--Miss Mary Farrell--Lady Margot Blount!" said Jack dramatically.

Tableau!

Mollie's arms dropped to her sides and her face grew scarlet under the garden-hat. So far from rising to her position as hostess, it was the visitor who came forward to shake hands and speak the conventional words of greeting. It was, indeed, a cruel Fate which sent just this visitor at just this very time! Half a dozen times over during the last fortnight had Mollie donned one of her grand London dresses and sat primly in the drawing-room, with intent to receive Lady Margot in style, and impress her with a sense of her own dignity and importance! And then to be discovered behaving like a mischievous school-girl, and be taken at such a disadvantage that she could not even find her voice! It was too annoying!

"Good-afternoon, Miss Farrell! I was coming up to the house to call upon you and your sister. I am so happy to have found you at home; and, do you know, I believe Mr Melland will have to fall back upon your help, after all. My efforts have not been at all successful. You tie such good knots!" cried Lady Margot, in a tone of enthusiasm which seemed to imply that the tying of knots was one of the rarest and most valuable of accomplishments. Looking into her face, Mollie's embarra.s.sment died a sudden death, and she found herself smiling back with a delicious sense of comradeship and understanding.

"Oh, I know the trick. I can undo them in a moment, and then won't you come and have tea with us on the terrace? It is all ready, and it seems a sin to be indoors on this lovely day. My sister will be there waiting for us; she was just coming up the path by the lake as I turned the corner."

"Oh, that is nice!" said Lady Margot. She looked as if she were about to ask another question, but checked herself, and strolled along beside the bath-chair, chatting alternately to Jack and Mollie with an ease and grace which might have come from long years' acquaintanceship. As they turned the corner of the terrace she was a step in advance, and Mollie saw her stop short for the fraction of a moment while the colour rushed into her pale cheeks. She had surprised a pretty little tableau--a tableau to which the inhabitants of the Court had grown accustomed during the last few days--Ruth seated on her chair, her lovely head drooped shyly forward, Victor leaning impressively towards her, his dark eyes bent on her face. They were too much engrossed to hear the approaching footsteps, but the sound of the chair crunching over the gravel at last aroused their attention, when Victor turned round, and leapt to his feet, white and breathless.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

"THE OGRE."

It was not a successful tea-party; for the fact of Victor's previous acquaintance with Lady Margot, so far from acting as a bond of union, seemed to cast a constraint over all. The meeting between the two had been cool and unnatural. They persistently avoided speaking to or looking at each other, and it seemed to Mollie's critical ear as if even Lady Margot's voice had altered in tone since she had turned the corner of the terrace. She chatted away as easily as before, but the friendly manner was replaced by something colder and more formal. As she sat with veil turned back, the full rays of the sun shining upon her face, it became more obvious than ever that, in spite of chestnut hair and violet eyes, Lady Margot fell far short of beauty; but, none the less, the eye dwelt upon her in fascinated attention, so graceful was the pose of the small, stag-like head, so finely cut the curve of chin and cheek; while the smallest action, as of lifting a cup to her lips, became a veritable joy to behold.

She was the incarnation of grace, and, looking at her, Mollie became uncomfortably aware of roughened hair, sunburnt hands, and a dozen little deficiencies of toilette. Even Ruth suffered from the comparison, and, despite an obvious effort to sustain her role as hostess, there was a strained, unhappy expression upon her face which went to Mollie's heart.

It was a relief to all when Lady Margot rose to take leave; but when she offered her hand to Victor in his turn, he said eagerly--

"Mayn't I walk down with you to the vicarage? It is so long since we met! Please let me take you so far!"

"Oh, certainly, if you can spare the time!" replied Lady Margot with a careless indifference of manner which made her consent almost more blighting than a refusal.

Victor winced beneath it, but made no comment, and the two tall figures walked slowly down the terrace. Immediately they had disappeared, Jack summoned a servant to wheel him into the house, and the girls were left alone.

They sat silently for a long time, as true friends can do without offence, Ruth gazing ahead with grey eyes which saw nothing of the beauty of the scene; Mollie glancing from time to time at her troubled face, then turning quickly aside, lest her scrutiny might be observed and resented.

At length Ruth spoke, letting her figure drop back in her chair with a gesture of weariness--

"I wonder how it is that nothing is ever as nice as one expects? If we could have looked forward two months ago, and seen ourselves as we are now, we should have imagined ourselves the happiest creatures on earth; but I am not. Sometimes it seems quite perfect for a few moments, but something always happens to rub off the bloom. Uncle Bernard is cross, or Mrs Wolff stupid, or--or something else! I believe we are not meant to be happy in this world!"

Mollie looked up with a quick flush of dissent.

"Oh, I think that is such a grudging idea! I hate to hear people say it, and I can't think how they can, when they look round, and see how bright and beautiful everything has been made! If G.o.d had meant us to be dull and sad, would He have made all the flowers different colours, and every season different from the last, and the sunsets and the dawn, and the wonderful changing clouds? It is just a gorgeous feast to delight our eyes of colour; and all the animals are so cheerful, while they are young, at least--they skip and dance by instinct, so surely we must be meant to be happy too!"

"I don't know," Ruth objected slowly. "Animals have not souls and responsibilities, but we have, and that keeps us serious. The average man and woman is not happy, if you can judge by appearances. I remember reading about a man who walked about the streets of London all day long to see how many people he should meet with a smile on their faces. I forget how many there were--half a dozen, perhaps--terribly few!"

"Well, there would have been thousands, if people were half as grateful as they should be. Do you know, I sometimes think that what must grieve G.o.d more than almost anything else is that so many people refuse to be happy, in spite of all He can do, and go on forgetting their blessings, and making themselves miserable about little bits of silly worries and bothers day after day. Imagine if you had a child who was always grizzling, in spite of all your love and care! How would you feel?"

"But a child is a child. We may be meant to be serious."

"You can be serious without being glum. You can be happy without being thoughtless."

"Ah, Mollie dear," cried Ruth, turning to her sister and holding out her hand with a rush of tenderness--"ah, Mollie dear, happiness is a gift, which you possess and I do not! I am sad even on this lovely day, in this lovely place. It may be wrong, but I can't help it, yet I don't think I am ungrateful."

"You are happy enough as a rule; but you do 'sup sorrow with a spoon'

when you get the chance, old dear! An hour ago, for instance, the sky seemed remarkably bright, and I could make a shrewd guess at the reason of this cloud; but, if I did, I expect you would snap off my head for my pains!"

"Yes, I should--I certainly should; so be careful what you say!" cried Ruth hastily. Then, as if eager to change the subject--"Here is James coming out with the afternoon letters. I hope there is one from home.

It seems ages since we heard!"

"Trix! For me. How lovely! I'll read it aloud!" cried Mollie, tearing open the envelope, and unfolding several odd sheets torn out of an exercise-book and covered with large, untidy handwriting. Trix's characteristic epistles were always welcome, and this afternoon's specimen had arrived in the very nick of time to stop an embarra.s.sing discussion, and cheer Ruth's drooping spirits.

Mollie lay back in her chair, and began reading in her clear fresh tones--

"Darling Moll,--While you are basking in the lap of luxury, this poor critter is s.n.a.t.c.hing a few precious moments from 'prep' to answer your last epistle, and give what news there is. First and foremost, mother is as well as possible, and goes about with an 'open your mouth and shut your eyes, and in your mouth you'll find a prize' expression, which puzzles her friends into fits. Poor mum simply dies to tell them that one of her daughters will shortly become a millionaire! But she shuts her lips up tight, and looks more mysterious than ever, because, of course, there is a chance that it may not come off. Don't let me ever see your faces again if it doesn't, that's all!

"Fancy you having all those fine clothes! I can't imagine how you would look respectably attired. Kindly remember Beatrice Olivia for any cast-off fineries. Hair-ribbons especially desired. I've nothing left but an old Navy-blue, twisted up like a tape.