For a few minutes Margery could hardly be called excited; she was
excitement itself. Between surprise and modesty she blushed and
trembled by turns. She became grave, sat down in the solitary room,
and looked into the fire. At seven o'clock she rose resolved, and
went quite tranquilly upstairs, where she speedily began to dress.
In making this hasty toilet nine-tenths of her care were given to her
hands. The summer had left them slightly brown, and she held them up
and looked at them with some misgiving, the fourth finger of her left
hand more especially. Hot washings and cold washings, certain
products from bee and flower known only to country girls, everything
she could think of, were used upon those little sunburnt hands, till
she persuaded herself that they were really as white as could be
wished by a husband with a hundred titles. Her dressing completed,
she left word with Edy that she was going for a long walk, and set
out in the direction of Mount Lodge.
She no longer tripped like a girl, but walked like a woman. While
crossing the park she murmured 'Baroness von Xanten' in a
pronunciation of her own. The sound of that title caused her such
agitation that she was obliged to pause, with her hand upon her
heart.
The house was so closely neighboured by shrubberies on three of its
sides that it was not till she had gone nearly round it that she
found the little door.
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