Suede shoes outside Mr Guy's door; smart, they were, but a nuisance to clean. She'd have to do them, she supposed, because the under-gardener would be sure to put polish on them by mistake.

And lastly Miss Stella's shoes, two pairs of them, the brogues she wore on the Heath, and the blue kid shoes she went to town in.

She put all the shoes in her apron, and carried them down the back-stairs to the scullery. Cook, Mrs Beecher, was in the kitchen, and called her in for a cup of tea. It made all the difference to you, thought Mary, being in a place where the cook was good-tempered. She went into the kitchen, and took her place at the table between Beecher and Rose. Rose was sitting with her elbows on the table, and her cup between her hands, eagerly recounting what had passed between the Master and Miss Stella in the library last night.

“… And then he told her straight he wouldn't have Dr Fielding making up to her under his roof. The names he called the doctor you wouldn't believe! And then he said that bit I told you, about the doctor being a fool with no prospects, and if you ask me it was that which set Mrs Matthews against the doctor, because against him she is, and no one'll make me believe different.”

“You didn't ought to listen to what wasn't meant for your ears,” said Mrs Beecher.

“It does seem a shame about the doctor and Miss Stella,” said Mary. “I am sure no one could be more gentlemanlike.”

“Ah, there's more to it than that,” replied Beecher, passing his cup across to his wife. “They say he's a bit fond of the bottle. Not that I've ever seen him the worse for wear myself, but there's no smoke without a fire.”

“That I won't believe!” declared Mrs Beecher roundly. “And what's more I'm surprised at you mentioning it, Beecher!”

Rose, avidly absorbing this fresh piece of scandal, said: “There you are, then! and no wonder Mrs Matthews had one of her nerve-attacks! When I saw her I thought to myself at once—”