“I am grateful to you even for so much as that.  And now I suppose I must say good-bye—­rather a hard word to say under the circumstances.  Heaven knows when you and I may meet again.”

“Won’t you stop and take some luncheon?  I dine early when my husband is away; it saves trouble to the people of the house.  The bailiff’s daughter always dines with me when I am alone; but I don’t suppose you will mind sitting down with her.  She is a good girl, and very fond of me.”

“I would sit down to dinner with a chimney-sweep, if he were a favourite of yours, Marian—­or Mrs. Holbrook; I suppose I must call you that now.”

After this they talked of Captain Sedgewick for a little, and the tears came to Marian’s eyes as she spoke of that generous and faithful protector.  While they were talking thus, the door was opened, and a bright-faced countrified-looking girl appeared carrying a tray.  She was dressed in a simple pretty fashion, a little above her station as a bailiff’s daughter, and had altogether rather a superior look, in spite of her rusticity, Gilbert thought.

She was quite at her ease in his presence, laying the cloth briskly and cleverly, and chattering all the time.

“I am sure I’m very glad any visitor should come to see Mrs. Holbrook,” she said; “for she has had a sad lonely time of it ever since she has been here, poor dear.  There are not many young married women would put up with such a life.”

“Nelly,” Marian exclaimed reproachfully, “you know that I have had nothing to put up with—­that I have been quite happy here.”

“Ah, it’s all very well to say that, Mrs. Holbrook; but I know better.  I know how many lonely days you’ve spent, so downhearted that you could scarcely speak or look up from your book, and that only an excuse for fretting.—­If you’re a friend of Mr. Holbrook’s, you might tell him as much, sir; that he’s killing his pretty young wife by inches, by leaving her so often alone in this dreary place.  Goodness knows, it isn’t that I want to get rid of her.  I like her so much that I sha’n’t know what to do with myself when she’s gone.  But I love her too well not to speak the truth when I see a chance of its getting to the right ears.”

“I am no friend of Mr. Holbrook’s,” Gilbert answered; “but I think you are a good generous-hearted girl.”

“You are a very foolish girl,” Marian exclaimed; “and I am extremely angry with you for talking such utter nonsense about me.  I may have been a little out of spirits sometimes in my husband’s absence; but that is all.  I shall begin to think that you really do want to get rid of me, Nell, say what you will.”

“That’s a pretty thing, when you know that I love you as dearly as if you were my sister; to say nothing of father, who makes a profit by your being here, and would be fine and angry with me for interfering.  No, Mrs. Holbrook; it’s your own happiness I’m thinking of, and nothing else.  And I do say that it’s a shame for a pretty young woman like you to be shut up in a lonely old farm-house while your husband is away, enjoying himself goodness knows where; and when he is here, I can’t see that he’s very good company, considering that he spends the best part of his time—­”