When Mrs. Tennant returned (she came in looking very hot and tired), it was to see the room tidy, Kathleen seated in her own special chair cobbling the boys’ socks as hard as she could, and an appetizing tea on the table.

“What does this mean?” said Mrs. Tennant.

“It means,” said Kathleen, jumping up, “that you are to plant yourself just here, and you are not to stir.  Oh, I know you are dead tired.  I will take off your shoes, poor dear; I have brought your slippers down on purpose, and you are to have your tea at this little table.  Now what will you have?  Hot sausages?—­They are done to a turn, aren’t they, Maria?”

“That they are, miss.”

“A nice hot sausage on toast, and a lovely cup of tea with cream in it.”

“But—­but,” said Mrs. Tennant, “what will Alice say?”

“Maria and I don’t care twopence what Alice says.  This is my tea, and Maria fetched it.  Now then, dear tired one, eat and rest.”

Mrs. Tennant looked at Kathleen with loving eyes.

“Did you buy these things?” she said.

“That she did, ma’am,” cried Maria.  “I never did see a more thoughtful young lady.”

“My dear child,” said Mrs. Tennant, “you are too good.”

Kathleen laughed.

“If there is one thing I am, it is not that,” she said.  “I am not a bit good.  I am as wild and naughty and——­Oh, but don’t let us talk about me.  I am so hungry.  You know I didn’t much like your dinner to-day.  I am not fond of those watery stews.  Of course, I can eat anything, but I don’t specially like them; so if you don’t mind I will have a sausage, too, and a plateful of shrimps afterwards, and some sardines.  And isn’t this water-cress nice?  The leaves are not quite so brown as I should like.  Oh, we did have such lovely water-cress in the stream at home!  Mrs. Tennant, you must come back with me to Carrigrohane some day, and then you will have a real rest.”

Mrs. Tennant, feeling very much like a naughty child herself, enjoyed her tea.  She and Kathleen laughed over the shrimps, exclaimed at the fun of eating the water-cress, enjoyed the sausages, and each drank four cups of tea.  It was when the meal had come to an end that Kathleen said calmly: 

“Three or four, or perhaps five, ladies called while Maria was out.”

“Who were they, dear?”

“I don’t know.  They left messages, and I have forgotten them.  One lady was dressed in what I should call a very loud style.  She was quite old.  Her face was all over wrinkles.  She was stout, and she wore a short jacket and a big—­very big—­picture-hat.”

“You don’t mean,” said Mrs. Tennant, “that Mrs. Dalzell has called?  She is one of my most important friends.  She promised to help me with regard to David’s future.  What did she say—­can’t you remember?”

“I am ever so sorry, but I can’t.  I kept staring at her hat all the time.  I don’t remember anything about her except that she was old and had wrinkles and a big picture-hat—­the sort of hat that Ruth Craven would look pretty in.”