e Margot was sure of her
welcome, for scarcely a day had passed by that she had not offered her
services, and been condescendingly permitted to shell peas, stone fruit,
or whip up snowy masses of cream. Mrs McNab always accorded permission
with the air of an empress conferring an order upon some humble
suppliant, but none the less Margot felt assured that she appreciated
the help, and would have missed it, had it not been forthcoming.

This morning she tapped on the door, opened it, and thrust her head
round the corner, to behold a tableau which remained fixed irrevocably
in heart and memory. In the middle of the floor stood the mistress of
the inn, arms akimbo, engaged in laying down the law in characteristic,
downright fashion to some one who sat perched upon the dresser with
hands thrust deep into knickerbocker pockets, and feet in rough climbing
boots swinging nonchalantly to and fro; some one with a bright, almost
boyish face alight with fun, laughter, and defiance.

For the second time Margot beheld the real George Elgood denuded of his
mask of shyness and reserve, and thrilled at the recognition. This
sunny, stone-flagged kitchen seemed fated to be the scene of unexpected
meetings! She would have retreated in haste, but at the sound of her
entrance Mr Elgood jumped hastily to the floor, and Mrs McNab
authoritatively waved her forward.

"Here she is to speak for herself! Come yer ways, Miss Vane. I was
saying to Mr Elgood that maybe he'd listen to your advice, as he willna
tak' mine. You're a leddy, and ken how such things should be done, and
if there's any call to waste the morning, and run into daft-like
expense, when everything a reasonable body need want is lying ready to
hand--"

Margot looked from one to the other in bewilderment, her spirits rising
with the discovery that for the first time in their short acquaintance
the Editor met her glance with an expression of relief rather than of
dread. He was smiling still, and the boyish look lingered on his face,
making him appear an absolutely different creature from the grave,
formidable hermit to whom she was accustomed.

Margot's eyes danced, and she answered as naturally as if she had been
speaking to Ron himself.

"I don't know in the least what I am giving an opinion about--but I am
not a `reasonable body,' and as a rule the result of `daft-like expense'
is very nice! I'm afraid that isn't what you wanted me to say, Mrs
McNab, but I must be