them tea, if her soft, quiet movements could be called
bustling. She brought a kettle from the unpainted deal cupboard which
housed her utensils of every day. She disappeared for a few seconds and
returned with the kettle full of water and set it on the gas-stove. She
pushed the papers away from one end of the table and covered it with a
dainty tea-cloth. She brought out cups and saucers of thin Japanese
porcelain, some sugar, a loaf and butter, a box of biscuits. While she
set her table she went on talking and smiling at them. The kettle began
to sing on the fire.

"Ah!" she said, with a sudden thought. "The milkman will not call for an
hour yet. What are we to do?"

"Let me go and forage," said Drummond eagerly.

"The nearest dairy is a good bit off."

"Trust me to find one."

When he had gone the two girls sat down and looked at each other. No
wonder she was beloved, Mary thought to herself, gloating over Nelly's
golden head, her blue eyes with the dark lashes, her lovely colouring,
her innocent mouth. She had a poor opinion of her own beauty and rarely
looked in a glass, but she was none the less generous to beauty in
others.

"And you are very happy?" she asked.

She had an inclination to put her arms about Nelly Drummond as though
she were a beautiful child. She was so glad Robin had remembered to
bring her at last. It had been strange and lonely when he had ceased to
come as he had been used to. It had been so pleasant to look up when his
tap came at the door and to see his plain, pleasant face looking at her
with a friendly smile. She had grown used to his visits all that winter
through; and when they had ceased abruptly she had missed them more than
she cared to acknowledge to herself. She had an impulse to take Nelly's
hand to her breast and hold it there for comfort.

"And you are very happy?" she said again.

She was prepared for a happy girl's outpourings. What she was not
prepared for was the sudden shadow that fell on Nelly's face, the
weariness, as though she had been brought back to the thought of
something disagreeable. A sudden wintriness went over her charming face.
The eyes drooped, the lips trembled and were steadied with an effort.

"I ought to be very happy," she said. "Everyone is good to me. I have
the dearest old father in the world and Robin is so kind and good. I
ought to be very happy and to make other people happy."

But she was not happy! Mary stared at the golden head with