My mistress desires me to tell you, sir, that luncheon is waiting." I
was in the presence of a thoroughbred English servant--and I had failed
to discover it until he spoke of his mistress! I had also, by keeping
luncheon waiting, treated an English institution with contempt. And,
worse even than this, as a misfortune which personally affected me, my
stepmother evidently knew that I had paid another visit to the mill.

I hurried along the woodland path, followed by the fat domestic in black.
Not used apparently to force his legs into rapid motion, he articulated
with the greatest difficulty in answering my next question: "How did you
know where to find me?"

"Mrs. Roylake ordered inquiries to be made, sir. The head gardener--"
There his small reserves of breath failed him.

"The head gardener saw me?"

"Yes, sir."

"When?"

"Hours ago, sir--when you went into Toller's cottage."

I troubled my fat friend with no more questions.

Returning to the house, and making polite apologies, I discovered one
more among Mrs. Roylake's many accomplishments. She possessed two
smiles--a sugary smile (with which I was already acquainted), and an acid
smile which she apparently reserved for special occasions. It made its
appearance when I led her to the luncheon table.

"Don't let me detain you," my stepmother began.

"Won't you give me some luncheon?" I inquired.

"Dear me! hav'n't you lunched already?"

"Where should I lunch, my dear lady?" I thought this would induce the
sugary smile to show itself. I was wrong.

"Where?" Mrs. Roylake repeated. "With your friends at the mill of course.
Very inhospitable not to offer you lunch. When are we to have flour
cheaper?"

I began to get sulky. All I said was: "I don't know."

"Curious!" Mrs. Roylake observed. "You not only don't get luncheon among
your friends: you don't even get information. To know a miller, and not
to know the price of flour, is ignorance presented in one of its most
pitiable aspects. And how is Miss Toller looking? Perfectly charming?"

I was angry by this time. "You have exactly described her," I said. Mrs.
Roylake began to get angry, on her side.

"Surely a little coarse and vulgar?" she suggested, reverting to poor
Cristel.

"Would you like to judge for yourself?" I asked. "I shall be happy, Mrs.
Roylake, to take you to the mill."

My stepmother's knowledge of the world implied considerable
acquaintance--how obtained I do not pretend to know--with