The space between the two houses was an enclosed meadow; and this afternoon, the grass being warm and dry, and full of wild flowers, Katherine followed the narrow foot-path through it, and entered the Semple garden by the small side gate.  Near this gate was a stone dairy, sunk below the level of the ground,—­a deliciously cool, clean spot, even in the hottest weather.  Passing it, she saw that the door was open, and Madam Semple was busy among its large, shallow, pewter cream-dishes.  Lifting her dainty silk skirts, she went down the few steps, and stood smiling and nodding in the doorway.  Madam was beating some rich curd with eggs and currants and spices; and Katherine, with a sympathetic smile, asked delightedly,—­

“Cheesecakes, madam?”

“Just cheesecakes, dearie.”

“Oh, I am glad!  Joanna is coming, too, only she had first some flax to unplait.  Wait for her I could not.  Let me fill some of these pretty little patty pans.”

“I’ll do naething o’ the kind, Katherine.  You’d be spoiling the bonnie silk dress you hae put on.  Go to the house and sit wi’ Mistress Gordon.  She was asking for you no’ an hour ago.  And, Katherine, my bonnie lassie, dinna gie a thought to one word that black-eyed nephew o’ her’s may say to you.  He’s here the day and gane to-morrow, and the lasses that heed him will get sair hearts to themsel’s.”

The bright young face shadowed, and a sudden fear came into Madam Semple’s heart as she watched the girl turn thoughtfully and slowly away.  The blinds of the house were closed against the afternoon sun; but the door stood open, and the wide, dim stairway was before her.  All was as silent as if she had entered an enchanted castle.  And on the upper hall the closed doors, and the soft lights falling through stained glass upon the dark, rich carpets, made an element of mystery, vague and charmful, to which Katherine’s sensitive, childlike nature was fully responsive.

Slowly she pushed back a heavy mahogany door, and entered a large room, whose richly wainscoted walls, heavy friezes, and beautifully painted ceiling were but the most obvious points in its general magnificence.  On a lounge covered with a design done in red and blue tent stitch, an elegantly dressed woman was sitting, reading a novel.  “The Girl of Spirit,” “The Fair Maid of the Inn,” “The Curious Impertinent,” and other favourite tales of the day, were lying upon an oval table at her side.

“La, child!” she cried, “come here and give me a kiss.  So you wear that sweet-fancied suit again.  You are the most agreeable creature in it; though Dick vows upon his sword-hilt that you look a hundred times more bewitching in the dress you wore this morning.”

“How?  This morning, madam?  This morning Captain Hyde did not see me at all.”