CHAPTER III
Margaret stood perfectly still, her eyes downcast, yet seeing quite plainly the tall patrician figure enveloped in the folds of violet velvet.
What should she do? Pass by him without a word, or murmur some kind of apology? How upset and annoyed her grandmother would be when she heard of her trespass, and its discovery by the earl, of all people. And the earl himself, what was he thinking of her? He was, no doubt, setting her down, in his mind, as an ill-bred, forward girl, who had intruded out of sheer impudence! The idea was almost unendurable, and smarting under it, the color came slowly into her face and her lips quivered.
Meanwhile, the earl, who had been indifferently wondering who she was, moved slowly, his hands behind him, along the gallery and toward her. His movements nerved her, and bending her head she made for the door, but slowly. The earl may have thought that she was one of the higher servants, but as she came nearer – for she had to pass him to leave the gallery – he must have seen that she was not one of the establishment, which was far too numerous for him to be familiar with.
"Do not let me drive you away," he said, in a low-toned, but exquisitely clear and musical voice, which had so often moved his fellow peers in the Upper House.
"I am going," said Margaret, flushing. "I – I ought not to have come."
She had never spoken to a nobleman in her life before, and did not know whether to say "my lord" or "your lordship," at the end of her sentence.
"Ought you not?" he said, with a faint smile crossing his clear-cut features.
"No – my lord," she faltered, venturing on that form; "I – I came here by accident. I lost my way. I am very sorry."
"Do not apologize," he said, bending his piercing eyes on her face, and smiling again as he noticed her abashed expression; "it is not a deadly sin. Are you – " he hesitated. It was evident that he did not want to add to her distress and confusion, and was choosing his words – "Are you staying here?"
"Yes," said Margaret; "I am staying with Mrs. Hale, my grandmother, my lord."
"Ah, yes!" he murmured. "Yes. Mrs. Hale. Yes, yes. You are her granddaughter. What is your name?"
"Margaret – Margaret Hale," she said.
"And how long have you been here?" he asked.
"I came last night, my lord," said Margaret.
"Last night? Yes. And you were on a voyage of discovery – "
"Oh, no, no!" she broke in, quickly. "I was looking for Mrs. Hale, and – opened the wrong door; when I came into the corridor outside I saw the pictures, and" – her color rose – "I was tempted to come in," and, with an inclination of the head, she was moving away.
His voice stopped her.
"Are you fond of pictures?" he asked, as one of his age and attainments would ask a child.
"Yes," said Margaret, simply, refraining even from adding, "very."
His glance grew absent.
"Most of your sex are," he said, musingly. "All life is but a picture to most of them. The surface, the surface only" – he sighed very faintly and wearily, and was pacing on, to Margaret's immense relief, as if he had forgotten her, when he stopped, as if moved by a kindly impulse, and said: "Pray come here when you please. The pictures will be glad of your company; they spend a solitary life too often. Yes, come when you please."
"Thank you, my lord," said Margaret, quietly, and without any fuss.
Perhaps the reserved and quiet response attracted his attention.
"Which was the picture I saw you admiring when I came in?" he asked. "You were admiring it, I think?"
"It was the head by Guido, my lord," she answered.
He looked at her quickly.
"How did you know it was Guido's?" he asked, and he went and stood before the picture, looking from it to her.
Margaret stared. How could it be possible for any intelligent person not to know!
"It is easy to tell a Guido, my lord," she said, with a slight smile. "One has only to see one of them once, and I have seen them in the National Gallery fifty – a hundred times."
He looked at her, not curiously – the Earl of Ferrers, famed for his exquisite courtesy, could not have done that – but with a newly-born interest.
"Yes? Do you recognize other masters here? This, for instance," and he raised his hand; it stood out like snow in front of the violet velvet, and a large amethyst on the forefinger gleamed redly in the downward light.
"That is a Carlo Dolci, my lord; but not a very good one."
"Right in both assertions," he said, with a smile. "And this?"
"A Rubens, and a very fine one," she said, forgetting his presence and grandeur, and approaching the picture. "I have never seen more beautiful coloring in a Rubens – but I have not seen the Continental galleries. It would look better still if it were not hung so near that De la Roche; the two clash. Now, if the other Rubens on the opposite side were placed – " but she remembered herself, and stopped suddenly, confused and shamefaced.
"Pray go on," he said gently. "You would hang them side by side. Yes. You are right! Tell me who painted this!" and he inclined his head toward a heavy battle piece.
"I do not know, my lord," said Margaret.
He smiled.
"It is a pleasant discovery to find that your knowledge is not illimitable," he said. "It is a Wouvermans."
Margaret looked at it, and her brows came together, after a fashion peculiar to her when she was thinking deeply, displeased, or silent under pressure.
"Well?" he said, as if he had read her thoughts; "what would you say?"
"It is not a Wouvermans, my lord," she said.
The earl smiled, and stood with folded hands regarding her.
"No, my lord. That is, I think not. It is not even a copy, but an imitation – oh, forgive me!" she broke off, blushing.
"No, no!" he said, gently; "there is nothing to forgive. Tell me why you think so? But I warn you – " and he smiled with mock gravity – "this picture cost several thousand pounds!"
"I can't help it," said Margaret, desperate on behalf of truth. "It is not a Wouvermans! He never painted a horse like that – never! I have copied dozens of his pictures. I should know a horse of his if I met it in the streets, my lord," and her eyebrows came together again in almost piteous assertion.
He looked at the picture keenly; then, with a slight air of surprise, he said:
"I think you are right! But it is a clever forgery – "
"Oh, clever!" said Margaret, with light scorn.
"Are you an artist?" he asked, after a second's pause.
"Yes, my lord," she said, modestly.
"Yes! Ah, I understand your inability to keep outside the gallery. An artist" – his piercing eyes rested on her downcast face – "my pictures are honored by your attention, Miss Hale. Permit me to repeat my invitation. I hope you will pay the gallery many visits. If you should care to copy any of the pictures, pray do so!"
"Oh, my lord!" said Margaret, and her face lit up as if a ray of sunlight had passed across it.
There was no ill-bred admiration in his gray eyes, only a deep and steady regard.
"Copy any you choose," he said. "As to the De la Roche – "
He paused, for a hurried footstep was heard behind them, and Mrs. Hale's voice anxiously calling "Margaret."
At sight of the earl she stopped short, turned pale, and dropped a profound curtsey.
"Oh, my lord! I – we – beg your pardon! My granddaughter lost her way – " then she seemed unable to go any further.
The earl turned to her with the calm, impassive manner he had worn when Margaret had seen him first.
"Do not apologize, Mrs. Hale," he said. "Your granddaughter is perfectly welcome. She is an artist, I hear?"
"Yes, my lord," faltered the old lady, as if she were confessing some great sin of Margaret's.
"Yes, and a capable one I am sure. She will probably like to copy some of the pictures. Please see that she is not disturbed."
Then, leaving the old lady overwhelmed and bewildered, he inclined his head to Margaret and moved away. But as he raised the heavy curtain at the end of the gallery, he turned and looked aside at her with a grave smile.
"The De la Roche shall be re-hung, and the false Wouvermans removed." Then murmuring "would that it were as easy to depose every other false pretender!" he let the curtain fall and disappeared.
Margaret stood looking after him, her brows drawn together dreamily, and seemed to awake with a start when, with a gasp, the old lady turned to her, exclaiming:
"Well, Margaret! To think that the earl – that his lordship – that – that – When I came in and saw him with you here I felt fit to sink into the ground! Oh, my dear, how ever did you come here?"
"'My wayward feet were wont to stray,'" quoted Margaret, with a laugh.
"What do you say?"
"Oh, it was only a line from a poem, grandmamma. I lost my way, and the earl came in and found me – "
"And – and spoke? And he wasn't angry? My dear, if I had been in your place, I should have longed for the earth to open and swallow me up!"
Margaret laughed softly.
"Of course you mustn't pay any attention to what he said: you mustn't take advantage of his offer about the copying of the pictures. Copy the pictures! Good gracious! as if you'd take such a liberty!"
Margaret opened her eyes.
"I certainly did think of taking it," she said.
"Oh, dear, no; it would never do!" exclaimed the old lady. "It was only politeness on his part to make you feel at your ease, and to show that he wasn't angry. As to his meaning it, why of course he didn't!"
"I had an impression that great noblemen like the earl always meant what they said; but that's only my ignorance, grandma, and, of course, I'll do as you wish. But," with a wistful glance down the gallery, "I had looked forward to painting some of them."
"Well, never mind, my dear," said the old lady soothingly; "you can come and look at them – sometimes, when the earl's out or away from the Court. It would never do for him to find you here again."
"No. I suppose next time he wouldn't find it incumbent upon him to be polite. Well, let's go now, grandma," and she turned with a sigh.
"Not that way!" exclaimed Mrs. Hale, in a horrified whisper, as Margaret went toward a door; "that leads direct to his lordship's private apartments."
Margaret laughed.
"It is quite evident that I mustn't venture out of your rooms alone again, grandma, or I shall get into serious trouble!"
"That you certainly will. But it's excusable, my dear; there aren't many places so big, and such a maze like. It took even me a long time to find my way about."
She opened the proper door as she spoke, and nearly ran against a portly gentleman, who was dignified looking enough to be the earl's brother.
"Bless my heart, Mr. Stibbings!" exclaimed Mrs. Hale. The butler puffed out a response in a hushed voice – everybody's voice was hushed at Leyton Court – then looked at Margaret and made a respectful bow.
"My granddaughter, Margaret, Mr. Stibbings," said the old lady, proudly.
The butler appeared surprised. He had taken Margaret for a visitor, and had been wondering how on earth she had got into the place without his knowing it?
"In – deed, Mrs. Hale! Glad to see you, miss."
"Yes, Mr. Stibbings; and, would you believe it, she's been in our picture-gallery, and – "
But Mr. Stibbings seemed too hurried and full of suppressed excitement to attend.
"Mrs. Hale, ma'am, you'll scarcely credit it, but – " he drew nearer and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Bless my heart!" exclaimed the old lady. "Dear, dear me! What is to be done? Will he stay, do you think? You'll let me know at once, there will be a great deal to see to – "
"Yes, yes," said the butler. "I'm going to find out. He has only just been announced. I don't know yet whether the earl will see him. Extraordinary, isn't it?" and he hurried on his way.
"Ex – tra – ordinary!" responded the old lady, staring at Margaret.
"What has happened, grandma?" asked Margaret, with a laugh.
"It's no laughing matter, my dear!" said the old lady, gravely. "Lord Blair Leyton has come."
"Has he?" said Margaret, with less interest than the matter deserved.
"Yes, and who knows what will happen? Perhaps the earl won't see him; perhaps they won't meet after all."
"I suppose they won't kill each other if they do, will they?" said Margaret.
The old lady looked at her aghast; such levity was terrible.
"My dear," she said, "you don't know what you are talking about. Kill each other – the earl and his nephew! Why, how ever could you say such a thing? Great people never fight, let alone kill each other."
CHAPTER IV
Meanwhile, Mr. Larkhall, the valet, had gone to the earl's sitting-room and made the announcement:
"Lord Leyton, my lord!"
The earl raised his steel-gray eyes, and, frowning slightly, said, "Lord Leyton?" without any expression of surprise.
"Yes, my lord," said the valet, with the proper impassiveness of a high-class servant.
The earl kept his eyes on the floor for a moment, then nodded as an indication that Lord Blair was to be shown in, and Mr. Larkhall went out to the drawing-room, where Lord Blair was waiting.
He was looking remarkably well this morning, and there were no traces of his encounter with Mr. Pyke on his handsome face, which with its prevailing suggestion of brightness and good humor, seemed to light up the grand and rather too stately room. He was dressed in that very comfortable and somewhat picturesque fashion, which is the mode nowadays, and his shapely limbs displayed themselves, not without grace, in knickerbockers and a shooting jacket of a wide check, which made his broad shoulders look even more vast than they were. Take him altogether he presented a very fine specimen of the genus man, at its best period, when youth sits at the prow, and pleasure sings joyously at the helm.
"This way, my lord," said Mr. Larkhall, and the young man followed the valet into the earl's room.
As he entered, the earl rose and looked at him, and notwithstanding the sternness of his face, a gleam of reluctant admiration shone in his eyes. He held out the thin, white hand.
"How do you do, Blair?" he said.
Lord Blair shook his hand.
"I hope you're well, sir?" he said, and the light, musical voice seemed to ring through the room, in its contrast to the elder man's subdued tones.
The earl waved his hand to a chair, and sank back into his own.
Then a silence ensued. It was evident that the earl expected the young viscount to account for his presence, and that Lord Blair found it rather hard to begin.
"Not had the gout lately, I hope, sir?" he said.
"Thanks, no; not very lately," replied the earl.
"I'm glad of that," said Lord Blair. "I shouldn't have liked to worry you while you were ill – and – and I ought to apologize for coming uninvited – "
It was palpable that he was not used to apologizing, and he did it awkwardly and bluntly.
The earl waved his hand.
"You are always free to come to the Court, Blair; you know that, I trust?"
He did not say that he was welcome, or that he, the earl was glad to see him.
"Thanks," said Lord Blair. "I shouldn't have come if I hadn't been obliged – I mean," with a smile at his clumsiness, "I mean I wanted to see you particularly on business – "
"Business?" said the earl, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Would not Messrs. Tyler & Driver – "
Tyler & Driver were the family solicitors.
"No," said Lord Blair; "I didn't think so. The fact is, sir, that I'm in a scrape." He said it with an air of surprise that made the earl smile dryly. "Yes; I suppose you'll say I always am. Well, I dare say I am. By George, I don't know how it is, either, for I'm always trying hard to keep out of 'em."
"Is it money – this time?" inquired the earl, with an impassiveness that was worse than any exhibition of ill-humor.
"Yes; it's money this time," assented Lord Blair laughing slightly, but coloring. "The fact is – " he paused. "I don't know whether you saw that my horse, Daylight, lost the Chinhester stakes?"
"I don't read the racing news," said his lordship gravely.
"Ah, I forgot. Well, it did. The fool of a jockey pulled at him too long, and – but I'm afraid you would not understand, sir."
"Most probably not," was the dry response.
"Anyway, he lost, and as I'd backed him very heavily – too heavily as it turned out – I lost a hatful of money. I've had a run of ill-luck all the season, too," he continued, as cheerfully as if he were recounting luck of quite another kind. "So I find myself completely up a tree. I don't like asking you for any more money, I seem to have had such a tremendous lot, don't you know, and it occurred to me that there was that Ketton property, and I could raise the money on that."
The earl's face darkened.
"Of course I know I needn't have troubled you about it," went on Lord Blair, "but I promised you I wouldn't raise any money without letting you know, and so – well, here I am," he wound up cheerfully.
The earl sat perfectly still and looked at the carpet.
"Blair," he said, at last, "you are on the road to ruin!"
"It's not so bad as that, sir, I hope," said the young man, after a rather startled stare and pause.
"You are a spendthrift and a gambler," continued the earl, his face hardening at each word.
Lord Blair's face flushed.
"That's rather strong, isn't it, sir?" he said, quietly.
"It is the truth – the plain truth," retorted the earl, quickly. "You are twenty-five, and you have run through – flung to the winds, destroyed – nearly all your own property. Only Ketton remains, and that is, you tell me, to go. What do you expect me to say? Have you no conscience, no sense of decency? But, indeed, the question is unnecessary, you have none."
The young man rose, and on his handsome face came a look that bore a faint resemblance to that on the old man's.
"What do you mean?" he asked, shortly.
The earl raised his eyes.
"With this ruin impending over you, you come to me to ask my sanction of the last step, and on the way here you amuse yourself by indulging in a vulgar ale-house brawl with one of my people, outside my gates – within sight of the house!"
Lord Blair sank into the chair, and smiled.
"Oh, that," he said, easily – "oh, that was nothing, sir. The fellow deserved all he got and more. 'Pon my word I couldn't help it. It was – but you've heard all about it, I daresay?"
"I have heard that you had a vulgar quarrel with one of the worst characters in the place, and indulged in a fight with him, sir," said the earl, his eyes flashing for a moment, then growing hard and cold. "But I forget. You say it was nothing. That which I deem a degradation, the future Earl of Ferrers may regard differently. But this I may be permitted to ask: that you will choose some other locality than Leyton for the exhibition of your brutality."
A hot response sprung to the lips of Lord Blair, but with an effort he choked it back.
"We won't say any more about the affair, sir," he said, "except that if it were to be done again, I'd do it!"
"I don't doubt you, sir," said the earl, coldly.
There was a pause, then the young man rose.
"I take it I can raise the money on Ketton, then?" he said.
The earl stared at the floor moodily.
"Hartwell gone, Parkfield mortgaged to the hilt, and now Ketton. What next, sir? Thank Heaven, you cannot play ducks and drakes with this place, or you would do it, I suppose! But I could forgive you all you have done if you had spared Violet."
The color mounted to the young man's face, and he bit his lip.
"In her, and her alone, lay your chance of salvation. You flung it away as ruthlessly as you have flung away your property. You have ruined yourself and broken her heart, and you sit there smiling – "
As if he could endure it no longer, Lord Blair rose.
"Broken her heart! Broken Violet's heart!" he repeated, with mingled amazement and incredulity. "Good Heavens, who told you that? I don't believe she has a heart to break! We – we broke off the match by mutual agreement. She was quite jolly about it! She – oh, come, sir, you don't know Violet as well as I do. I'll answer for it she thinks herself well out of it; as she is, by George! Any woman would get a bad bargain in me, I'm afraid."
"I wish that I could contradict you," said the earl grimly. "I pity any woman who trusts herself to your tender mercies. As for Violet Graham, I am glad that she has escaped; but your conduct was dishonorable – "
The young man's face paled, and his hands clinched with a passion of which he had shown no trace during the fight of yesterday.
"That will do, sir," he said, in a low voice. "No man, not even you, has the right to use such a word to me! I tell you it would have been dishonorable to have married Violet for her money; it was more honorable to keep from it. I'm going. As to Ketton, it's my own – "
"For the present," put in the earl, with fearful sarcasm.
– "And I can do what I like with it. I'd rather sell it twenty times over than marry Violet Graham, and get her money to save it! Good-bye, sir!" He was going out of the room with this brief farewell, but at the door he paused, and striding back held out his hand. "Look here, sir," he said, his voice softening, a gentler light coming into his eyes. "Don't let us part like this! Heaven knows when we shall meet again, if ever we do! I may have to clear out of England! I've some thoughts of going in for sheep farming out West, or I may break my neck at the next steeplechase. Anyhow, let us part friends."
The earl waved him to the chair.
If he had grasped the extended hand the warm heart of the young man would have forgiven all the hard words that had been spoken – forgiven and forgotten them.
"Sit down, please. You are right. Words are of no avail between us. In regard to your proposition, I am averse to it. I will give you the money. What is the amount?"
Lord Blair looked surprised, then grave.
"Thanks, sir," he said. "But I would rather you didn't. I have had too much from you already. I'm ashamed to think how much. I'm a spendthrift and a fool, as you say, but for the future I will spend only my own. I'm not ungrateful for all you have given me! No, but – I can't take any more from you."
The earl's lips came together tightly. He bowed.
"I have no right to combat your resolution," he said, "or to prevent you ruining yourself in your own fashion. After all, it matters very little whether the Jews have Ketton now or later; they will get it one time or the other, doubtless."
"I'm afraid they will," said Lord Blair, with a short sigh; then he rose. "Well, I'm off, sir."
"Stay!" said the earl; "our quarrel – if it can be called one – is over. You will oblige me by remaining for one night at least. I do not wish it to be said all over the country that we could not exist for twenty-four hours under one roof, as it will be said if you go at once. Stay, if you please."
"If you wish it, sir, certainly," said Lord Blair, not very joyously. "But I'm afraid I shall bore you dreadfully, you know."
"The boring will be mutual, I have no doubt," said the earl grimly. "I may remind you that we need meet only at dinner."
"That's true," said Lord Blair frankly. "Well, until then, I'll walk round the place."
Then earl inclined his head, and rang the bell which stood at his elbow.
"Lord Leyton will remain here to-night," he said to Larkhall, and that exemplary servant, holding the door open for Lord Blair to pass out, hurried off to tell Mr. Stibbings and Mrs. Hale the extraordinary news that the future earl was to sleep at the house which would some day be his own.
Lord Blair had spent a remarkably bad quarter of an hour; but before he had got half way down the broad staircase, with its carved balustrades and magnificent cross panelling, he began to shake off the effects with that wonderful good-humored carelessness which had lost him nearly all his lands, and won him so many hearts.
He went down the stairs into the hall and looked round him with a smile, as if his interview had been of the pleasantest description; then he lit a cigar and, with his hat on the back of his head, went out into the warm sunshine.
He walked along the terrace and across the lawns, and then as if by instinct found his way to the stables. And be it remarked, and it is worth noting, that he had not – as many a man in his position would have done – given one glance at the magnificent place with the thought that it would some day all be his.
Strange to say, for an heir, he didn't wish the earl dead. Blair Leyton hankered after no man's property, not even his uncle's; whatever sins may have been laid to his charge, he was innocent of that love of money which is the root of all evil.
So without a spark of envy or covetousness or ill-will, he went to the stables and, nodding pleasantly to the head groom, went into the stalls.
Of course the man knew who he was – the news had spread all over the Court in five minutes! – and was respectful, and in a second or two more than that; for Blair's manner was as pleasant with high, low, Jack, and the game all round.
"Some good horses," he said.
The man shook his head doubtfully.
"Some, my lord," he assented. "But not what they ought to be for so big a place – begging your lordship's pardon. You see his lordship the earl only has the carriage horses – and them only once now and again – and there's nobody to ride. I try to keep 'em up, but a man loses heart like, my lord."
"I understand," said Lord Blair, sympathetically. "It's a pity. Such a fine hunting country."
"Ah, isn't it, my lord!" said the man with a sigh. "If the earl 'ud only take the hounds – but there" – and he sighed again.
Lord Blair went up to a big black horse and smacked him, a little attention which the animal responded to by launching out viciously.
"Nice nag!" said Lord Blair, approvingly.
"All but his temper, my lord," said the man. "He's as crooked-minded a hoss as ever I see."
Lord Blair laughed.
"He's straight enough in other ways," he said. "Put a saddle on him and I'll take a turn."
The man hesitated a second.
"He's an awkward one to ride, my lord," he ventured.
"So I should think," said the young man, cheerfully; "but I like them awkward."
The horse was saddled and brought out, and immediately commenced to verify the character bestowed upon him.
"Ill-tempered dev – beast, I'll take him back, my lord," said the groom; but, with a laugh, Lord Blair got into the saddle, and as the horse reared brought him down in so neat a style that the groom's misgivings fled.
"All right, my lord," he said, with an approving nod.
"Yes, it's all right," said the young man, with another laugh. "He's rather hot just at present, but he'll come back like a lamb, and I shall be hot, I expect," and off he rode.
"There," said the groom to a circle of his helpers, "that's my idea of a young nobleman! There'd be some pleasure and credit in keeping a stable for him."
"What a pity he's such a bad young man," murmured a maid-servant, who had crept out to look on.
"He may be a bad young man," retorted the groom sententiously, "but he's a darned good rider."
"He's dreadfully handsome," said the girl, with a little sigh, as she ran in again, and they unconsciously expressed the general opinion of the two sexes of Blair, Viscount Leyton.
The announcement that the young lord was to remain the night at the Court threw Mrs. Hale into a state of excitement.
"I must see Mr. Stibbings about the lunch and dinner at once, and there's the room to prepare. I shall have to leave you to yourself to-day, my dear," she said to Margaret. "Bless me, if I'd only had an hour or two's notice I could have got something nice for dinner. The earl doesn't care what it is, and often sends the things away untouched; but a young man from London, and used to the dinners they get there at the London clubs, is very different."
"Don't mind me, grandma," said Margaret. "I suppose I can't help you at all?"
"You? – Good gracious me, no!" said the old lady quite pityingly.
"Then I'll get my hat and go into the garden," said Margaret.
"Do, my dear; but keep this side of the house, mind, and do not go in front of the earl's windows."
"Very well; I'll take care," laughed Margaret. "I suppose if the earl should happen to catch sight of me twice in one day it would be fatal! – or would he only have a fit?" But Mrs. Hale, fortunately for her, did not hear this.
Margaret went out into the garden, and carefully kept out of sight of the great windows. She was very happy, and now and again she would break into song. The garden attached to this wing was a large one, and filled with flowers, and when she came in to lunch she had a large bunch of roses and heliotrope and pinks in her hand.
"There was no notice – 'Do not pick the flowers!' grandma. I hope I haven't been very wicked?"
"No, no, my dear," said Mrs. Hale, who was in a fine state of flurry. "What a beautiful bouquet you have got!"
"Isn't it?" said Margaret, pinning a red rose in the bosom of her dress. "Where shall I put these?" and she looked round for a vase.
"Anywhere you like, my dear. Oh, Margaret, how nice they would be in Lord Leyton's room! It would make it seem more homely like; do what you will, a room that hasn't been used for months does look cold and formal."
"Doesn't it?" agreed Margaret. "And there is nothing like flowers to take off that effect. His lordship is welcome to them; so there they are, grandma."
"Yes, thank you," said Mrs. Hale, hurriedly. "I'll ring for Mary, unless you wouldn't mind running up with them; you'll arrange them decently, while she'll just throw them into a vase."
"Very well. Show me the way, Mary, to Lord Leyton's room," said Margaret as Mary entered.
Mrs. Hale had given him one of the best rooms in the house, and Margaret, who had never seen such an apartment, was lost in admiration of the silken hangings which stood in place of paper on the walls, and the old and priceless furniture.
She arranged the flowers in a deep, glass dish, and placed it on the spacious dressing table.
"His lordship ought to be pleased, miss," said Mary, shyly, as they were leaving the room.
Margaret laughed.
"I daresay he will think them very much in the way and throw them out of the window. I hope he won't throw dish and all," she said.
As she entered Mrs. Hale's sitting-room, she saw Mr. Stibbings approaching.