sight—a girl in a long shiny waterproof, picking her way carefully through the mud from one pavement to the other. The rain dripped steadily, drearily from the square portico overhead.
Gretchen shivered as she looked.
The door was opened and she stepped into the dazzle of the brightly lighted hall, and began to take off her wet cloak. When the bright mist cleared, she saw that there was a portmanteau on the oak chest against the wall; a bundle of rugs lay beside it; from the drawing-room came a distant murmur of voices.
"Has any one come, then, Price?" asked Gretchen, stopping at the last button of her waterproof.
"Yes, miss; Mr. Margrave. He came unexpected, about two hours ago. I don't know why James hasn't taken up his things, I'm sure. I've told him to, times enough." Gretchen put her cloak into the maid's hands and turned to the stairs.
"Will you have some tea, miss?"
"No, thank you," she answered quietly.
Upstairs, the door of Cecily's room stood half-open. She was dressed for dinner already, and she stood before the fire, the tips of her fingers touching the mantelpiece, her forehead resting upon them.
Gretchen hesitated a moment, then went in. "This is a delightful surprise for you, Cecily, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Cecily starting. She had raised her head quickly when she heard Gretchen's step, but she did not turn round.
Gretchen stood looking at her with an indescribable expression.
"Why did he come?" she asked after a moment.
"He has been working too hard. The doctor said he was to rest a little, and take a holiday. So he made up his mind suddenly to come and see us. He wrote, but the letter hasn't
