“What will you do?” said the doctor, inattentively; and his blindness to Sarah’s charms and her powers made her almost pity such obtuseness.

“I will go and fetch Lady Mary, for one thing, and cheer her up.”

“Not a word to her!” he cried, starting up; “remember, I told you in confidence—­though why I was such a fool—­”

“Am I likely to forget?” said Sarah; “and you will see one day whether you were a fool to tell me.”  She said to herself, despairingly, that the stupidity of mankind was almost past praying for.  As the doctor opened the door for Sarah, Lady Mary herself walked into the room.

She had removed all traces of tears from her face, and, though she was still very pale, she was quite composed, and ready to smile at them both.

“Were you coming to fetch me?” she said, taking Sarah’s arm affectionately.  “Dr. Blundell, I am afraid luncheon will be terribly late.  The servants have all gone off their heads in the confusion, as was to be expected.  The noise and the welcome upset me so that I dared not go out on the terrace again.  Ash has just been to tell me it’s all over, and that Peter made a capital speech; quite as good as Mr. John’s, he said; but that is hardly a compliment to our K.C.,” she laughed.  “I’m afraid Ash is prejudiced.”

“Ash was doing the honours with all his might,” said the doctor, gruffly; “handing round cider by the hogshead.  Hallo! the speeches must be really all over,” he said, for, above vociferous cheering, the strains of the National Anthem could just be discerned.

Peter came striding across the terrace, and looked in at the open window.

“Are you better again, mother?” he called.  “Could you come out now?  They’ve done at last, but they’re calling for you.”

“Yes, yes; I’m quite ready.  I won’t be so silly again,” said Lady Mary.

But Peter did not listen.  “Why—­” he said, and stopped short.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten Sarah,” said Lady Mary, laughing—­“your little playmate Sarah?  But perhaps I ought to say Miss Hewel now.”

“How do you do, Sir Peter?” said Sarah, in a very stately manner.  “I am very glad to be here to welcome you home.”

Peter, foolishly embarrassed, took the hand she offered with such gracious composure, and blushed all over his thin, tanned face.

“I—­I should hardly have known you,” he stammered.

“Really?” said Sarah.

“Won’t you,” said Peter, still looking at her, “join us on the terrace?”

“The people aren’t calling for me” said Sarah.

“But it might amuse you,” said Peter, deferentially.

He put up his eyeglass—­but though Sarah’s red lip quivered, she did not laugh.

“It’s rather jolly, really,” he said.  “They’ve got banners, and flags, and processions, and things.  Won’t you come?”

“Well—­I will,” said Sarah.  She accepted his help in descending the step with the air of a princess.  “But they’ll be so disappointed to see me instead of your mother.”