There was a little
chased silver vase on a bracket, and some of the flowers from the
passion vines in it. The table with the remains of breakfast on
it was as nice on a small scale as the one she had just left in
the big cottage.
He came back froth the inner room with the keys. "I was afraid I
had mislaid then," he said; "the middle one opens the padlock,
Miss Woolcot; the brass fat one is for the two bins, and the
long steel one for the cupboard."
"Thank you so much. I'm afraid we disturbed you in the middle of your
breakfast," Meg said, standing up and blushing because she thought he
had noticed her surprise at the bookshelves.
He disclaimed the trouble, and held the door open for them with
a bow that had something courtly in it, at least so Meg thought,
puzzling how it came to be associated with salt beef by the
hundredweight and bins of flour. He watched them go over the
grass--at least he watched Meg in her cool, summer muslin and
pale-blue belt, Meg in her shady chip hat, with the shining fluffy
plait hanging to her waist.
Judy's long black legs and crumpled cambric had no element of the
picturesque in them.
Mrs. Hassal unfastened the padlock of the store-room.
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