body at the Moat calls her Craigie—except Edward, the footman, who's in love with her."
"Dear me, dear me, what large ears little pitchers have, to be sure," mumbled Rose Barnard, pressing her pink lips together to keep from smiling. "It's quite different at the Moat. There Kate is a servant. Here she is a friend." And as by this time the subject of the conversation had come well into view, Mrs. Barnard jumped up, holding out her hand.
"This is nice, Kate," said she. "All the more welcome from being a surprise."
"I just had to come and see you," exclaimed the young woman whom Poppet must not call "Craigie." "I haven't got long to stop, though. I expect that her ladyship will be home by half-past four or so. She and Sir Ian are lunching over at the Wood, with Mrs. Forestier, and I'd have slipped away before if I could, but I got into a fuss with Edward."
"Poor Edward! I shouldn't wonder if it was more your fault than his, Kate," laughed Mrs. Barnard. "I expect he was jealous, thinking how you've been away in Paris, perhaps flirting with some smart couriers in the hotel."
"It's none of his business if I flirt or not," said Kate Craigie. "I never promised myself to him."
"That's what makes him so wild," remarked Rose. "He'd be quiet enough if you would." And she smiled at Kate, who was a handsome, well-made girl,
