in her bedroom till her father's rage had blown over, as she had
often done on lesser occasions, she packed up a bundle of articles,
crept down again, and went out of the house. She had a place of
refuge in these cases of necessity, and her father knew it, and was
less alarmed at seeing her depart than he might otherwise have been.
This place was Rook's Gate, the house of her grandmother, who always
took Margery's part when that young woman was particularly in the
wrong.

The devious way she pursued, to avoid the vicinity of Mount Lodge,
was tedious, and she was already weary. But the cottage was a
restful place to arrive at, for she was her own mistress there--her
grandmother never coming down stairs--and Edy, the woman who lived
with and attended her, being a cipher except in muscle and voice.
The approach was by a straight open road, bordered by thin lank
trees, all sloping away from the south-west wind-quarter, and the
scene bore a strange resemblance to certain bits of Dutch landscape
which have been imprinted on the world's eye by Hobbema and his
school.

Having explained to her granny that the wedding was put off; and that
she had come to stay, one of Margery's first acts was carefully to
pack up the locket and case, her wedding present from the Baron. The
conditions of the gift were unfulfilled, and she wished it to go back
instantly. Perhaps, in the intricacies of her bosom, there lurked a
greater satisfaction with the reason for returning the present than
she would have felt just then with a reason for keeping it.

To send the article was difficult. In the evening she wrapped
herself up, searched and found a gauze veil that had been used by her