‘You can’t help yourself, May,’ he said at length.  ’It’s your nature, my girl.  Don’t worry.  I’ll see Sir Edwin, and perhaps he’ll listen to me.  It’s the women who make all the mischief.  I must try to see Sir Edwin—­’

A pang across the loins made him end abruptly, groaning, moaning, muttering.  Before the renewed attack of her mother May retreated into the sitting-room, and there passed an hour wretchedly enough.  A knock at the door without words called her to supper, but she had no appetite, and would not join the family circle.  Presently the door opened, and her father looked in.

‘Don’t worry, my girl,’ he whispered.  ‘I’ll see Sir Edwin in the morning.’

May uttered no reply.  Vaguely repenting what she had done, she at the same time rejoiced in the recollection of her passage of arms with Miss Shale, and was inclined to despise her family for their pusillanimous attitude.  It seemed to her very improbable that the expulsion would really be carried out.  Lady Shale and Hilda meant, no doubt, to give the Rocketts a good fright, and then contemptuously pardon them.  She, in any case, would return to London without delay, and make no more trouble.  A pity she had come to the lodge at all; it was no place for one of her spirit and her attainments.

In the morning she packed.  The train which was to take her back to town left at half-past ten, and after breakfast she walked into the village to order a cab.  Her mother would scarcely speak to her; Betsy was continually in reproachful tears.  On coming back to the lodge she saw her father hobbling down the avenue, and walked towards him to ask the result of his supplication.  Rockett had seen Sir Edwin, but only to hear his sentence of exile confirmed.  The baronet said he was sorry, but could not interfere; the matter lay in Lady Shale’s hands, and Lady Shale absolutely refused to hear any excuses or apologies for the insult which had been offered her daughter.

‘It’s all up with us,’ said the old gardener, who was pale and trembling after his great effort.  ’We must go.  But don’t worry, my girl, don’t worry.’

Then fright took hold upon May Rockett.  She felt for the first time what she had done.  Her heart fluttered in an anguish of self-reproach, and her eyes strayed as if seeking help.  A minute’s hesitation, then, with all the speed she could make, she set off up the avenue towards the Hall.

Presenting herself at the servants’ entrance, she begged to be allowed to see the housekeeper.  Of course her story was known to all the domestics, half a dozen of whom quickly collected to stare at her, with more or less malicious smiles.  It was a bitter moment for Miss Rockett, but she subdued herself, and at length obtained the interview she sought.  With a cold air of superiority and of disapproval the housekeeper listened to her quick, broken sentences.  Would it be possible, May asked, for her to see Lady Shale?  She desired to—­to apologise for—­for rudeness of which she had been guilty, rudeness in which her family had no part, which they utterly deplored, but for which they were to suffer severely.