e picnic came. The lovely morning, and the cheerful bustle
of preparation for the expedition, failed entirely to tempt Midwinter
into altering his resolution. At the regular hour he left the
breakfast-table to join Mr. Bashwood in the steward's office. The two
were quietly closeted over the books, at the back of the house, while
the packing for the picnic went on in front. Young Pedgift (short in
stature, smart in costume, and self-reliant in manner) arrived
some little time before the hour for starting, to revise all the
arrangements, and to make any final improvements which his local
knowledge might suggest. Allan and he were still busy in consultation
when the first hitch occurred in the proceedings. The woman-servant from
the cottage was reported to be waiting below for an answer to a note
from her young mistress, which was placed in Allan's hands.

On this occasion Miss Milroy's emotions had apparently got the better
of her sense of propriety. The tone of the letter was feverish, and the
handwriting wandered crookedly up and down in deplorable freedom from
all proper restraint.

"Oh, Mr. Armadale" (wrote the major's daughter), "such a misfortune!
What _are_ we to do? Papa has got a letter from grandmamma this morning
about the new governess. Her reference has answered all the questions,
and she's ready to come at the shortest notice. Grandmamma thinks (how
provoking!) the sooner the better; and she says we may expect her--I
mean the governess--either to-day or to-morrow. Papa says (he _will_ be
so absurdly considerate to everybody!) that we can't allow Miss Gwilt to
come here (if she comes to-day) and find nobody at home to receive her.
What is to be done? I am ready to cry with vexation. I have got the
worst possible impression (though grandmamma says she is a charming
person) of Miss Gwilt. _Can_ you suggest something, dear Mr. Armadale?
I'm sure papa would give way if you could. Don't stop to write; send me
a message back. I have got a new hat for the picnic; and oh, the agony
of not knowing whether I am to keep it on or take it off. Yours truly,
E. M."

"The devil take Miss Gwilt!" said Allan, staring at his legal adviser in
a state of helpless consternation.

"With all my heart, sir--I don't wish to interfere," remarked Pedgift
Junior. "May I ask what's the matter?"

Allan told him. Mr. Pedgift the younger might have his faults, but a
want of quickness of resource was not among them.

"There's a way out