“The doctor’s out,” she announced somewhat truculently.  Then, before Sara had time to formulate any reply, she added, a thought more graciously:  “Maybe you’re a stranger to these parts.  Surgery hour’s not till six o’clock.”

She was evidently fully prepared for Sara to accept this as a dismissal, and looked considerably astonished when the latter queried meekly: 

“Then can I see Miss Selwyn, please?  I understand Mrs. Selwyn is an invalid.”

“You’re right there.  The mistress isn’t up for seeing visitors.  And Miss Molly, she’s not home—­she’s away to Oldhampton.”

“But—­but——­” stammered Sara.  “They’re expecting me, surely?  I’m Miss Tennant,” she added by way of explanation.

“Miss Tennant!  Sakes alive!” The woman threw up her hands, staring at Sara with an almost comic expression, halting midway between bewilderment and horror.  “If that isn’t just the way of them,” she went on indignantly, “never mentioning that ’twas to-day you were coming—­and no sheets aired to your bed and all!  The master, he never so much as named it to me, nor Miss Molly neither.  But please to come in, miss—­” her outraged sense of hospitality infusing a certain limited cordiality into her tones.

The woman led the way into a sitting-room that opened off the hall, standing aside for Sara to pass in, then, muttering half-inaudibly, “You’ll be liking a cup of tea, I expect,” she disappeared into the back regions of the house, whence a distant clattering of china shortly gave indication that the proffered refreshment was in course of preparation.

Sara seated herself in a somewhat battered armchair and proceeded to take stock of the room in which she found herself.  It tallied accurately with what the hall had led her to expect.  Most of the furniture had been good of its kind at one time, but it was now all reduced to a drab level of shabbiness.  There were a few genuine antiques amongst it—­a couple of camel-backed Chippendale chairs, a grandfather’s clock, and some fine old bits of silver—­which Sara’s eye, accustomed to the rare and beautiful furnishings of Barrow Court, singled out at once from the olla podrida of incongruous modern stuff.  These alone had survived the general condition of disrepair; but, even so, the silver had a neglected appearance and stood badly in need of cleaning.

This latter criticism might have been leveled with equal justice at almost everything in the room, and Sara, mindful of her reception, reflected that in such an oddly conducted household, where the advent of an expected, and obviously much-needed, paying guest could be completely overlooked, it was hardly probable that smaller details of house-management would receive their meed of attention.

Instead of depressing her, however, the forlorn aspect of the room assisted to raise her spirits.  It looked as though there might very well be a niche in such a household that she could fill.  Mentally she proceeded to make a tour of the room, duster in hand, and she had just reached the point where, in imagination, she was about to place a great bowl of flowers in the middle desert of the table, when the elderly Abigail re-appeared and dumped a tea-tray down in front of her.