Margaret lingered a little in the avenue, watching for a favourable
opportunity in which she might hazard this attempt. She waited five
minutes or so.
The curve of the avenue screened her, in some wise, from the man in the
porch, who never happened to roll his languid eyes towards the spot
where she was standing.
A flight of rooks came scudding through the sky presently, very much
excited, and cawing and screeching as if they had been an ornithological
fire brigade hurrying to extinguish the flames of some distant rookery.
The footman, who was suffering acutely from the complaint of not knowing
what to do with himself, came out of the porch and stood in the middle
of the gravelled drive, with his back towards Margaret, staring at the
birds as they flew westward.
This was her opportunity. The girl hurried to the door with a light
step, so light upon the smooth solid gravel that the footman heard
nothing until she was on the broad stone step under the porch, when the
fluttering of her skirt, as it brushed against the pillars, roused him
from a species of trance or reverie.
He turned sharply round, as upon a pivot, and stared aghast at the
retreating figure under the porch.
"Hi, you there, young woman!" he exclaimed, without stirring from his
post; "where are you going to? What's the meaning of your coming to this
door? Are you aware that there's such a place as a servants' 'all and a
servants' hentrance?"
But the languid retainer was too late.
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