ing; the hours flew by so fast, Margaret
often suspected the clock of being something of a dishonest character.
She was studying German, with the delightful result of reading "Der
Trompeter von Saekkingen" with her uncle in the evening, when it was not
too beautiful out-of-doors. Then, in the afternoon, she could with a
clear conscience take up some beloved romance, and be "just happy," as
she called it, till Mr. Montfort returned in time for the walk or ride
which was the crowning pleasure of the day. And so the days went by, in
a golden peace which seemed too pleasant to last; and yet there seemed
no reason why it should ever change.

The morning after the reading of the letters, Margaret had been in the
White Rooms, arranging flowers in the vases, and putting little loving
touches to books and cushions, as a tidy girl loves to do, whether there
is need or not. The windows were open, and the orioles were singing in
the great elm-tree, and the laburnum was a bower of gold. It seemed
really too perfect a morning to spend in the house; Margaret thought she
would take her work out into the garden, not this sunny green parlour,
but the great shady garden outside, where the box swept above her head,
and the whole air smelt of it, and of moss and ferns and a hundred other
cool things. She passed out of the rooms, and went along a passage, and
as she went she heard voices that came through an open door at one side;
clear, loud voices that she could not have escaped if she would.

"These table-napkins is scandalous!" said Elizabeth. "I do wish Miss
Margaret would get us some new ones."

"Why don't you ask her?" said Frances, the cook, bringing her flat-iron
down with a thump. "The table-cloths is most worn out, too, this set.
Ask her to see to some new ones. She's young, you see, and she don't
think."

"I've been giving her one with holes in it, right along this two weeks,"
said Elizabeth, "hoping she'd notice, but she don't seem to. I thought
it'd be best if she found out herself when things was needed."

"Ah!" said Frances, "she's a sweet young lady, but she'll never make no
housekeeper. She hasn't so much as looked inside one of my closets since
Mis' Cheriton went."

"You wouldn't be over and above pleased if she looked much into your
closets, Frances; I know that!"

"Maybe I wouldn't, and maybe I would; but I'd like to have her know as
there was no need of her looking. Don't tell me, Elizabeth! So long as
she could