Lady Lundie rang the bell twice—­thus intimating, according to the laws of the household, that she required the attendance of her own maid.  She then turned to the cook—­still waiting her pleasure, with stony composure, slate in hand.

“You have done wrong,” said her ladyship, severely.  “I am your mistress.  You are bound to answer your mistress—­”

Hester Dethridge bowed her head, in icy acknowledgment of the principle laid down—­so far.

The bow was an interruption.  Lady Lundie resented it.

“But Miss Blanche is not your mistress,” she went on, sternly.  “You are very much to blame for answering Miss Blanche’s inquiries about Miss Silvester.”

Hester Dethridge, perfectly unmoved, wrote her justification on her slate, in two stiff sentences:  “I had no orders not to answer.  I keep nobody’s secrets but my own.”

That reply settled the question of the cook’s dismissal—­the question which had been pending for months past.

“You are an insolent woman!  I have borne with you long enough—­I will bear with you no longer.  When your month is up, you go!”

In those words Lady Lundie dismissed Hester Dethridge from her service.

Not the slightest change passed over the sinister tranquillity of the cook.  She bowed her head again, in acknowledgment of the sentence pronounced on her—­dropped her slate at her side—­turned about—­and left the room.  The woman was alive in the world, and working in the world; and yet (so far as all human interests were concerned) she was as completely out of the world as if she had been screwed down in her coffin, and laid in her grave.

Lady Lundie’s maid came into the room as Hester left it.

“Go up stairs to Miss Blanche,” said her mistress, “and say I want her here.  Wait a minute!” She paused, and considered.  Blanche might decline to submit to her step-mother’s interference with her.  It might be necessary to appeal to the higher authority of her guardian.  “Do you know where Sir Patrick is?” asked Lady Lundie.

“I heard Simpson say, my lady, that Sir Patrick was at the stables.”

“Send Simpson with a message.  My compliments to Sir Patrick—­and I wish to see him immediately.”

* * * * *

The preparations for the departure to the shooting-cottage were just completed; and the one question that remained to be settled was, whether Sir Patrick could accompany the party—­when the man-servant appeared with the message from his mistress.

“Will you give me a quarter of an hour, gentlemen?” asked Sir Patrick.  “In that time I shall know for certain whether I can go with you or not.”

As a matter of course, the guests decided to wait.  The younger men among them (being Englishmen) naturally occupied their leisure time in betting.  Would Sir Patrick get the better of the domestic crisis? or would the domestic crisis get the better of Sir Patrick?  The domestic crisis was backed, at two to one, to win.