'I do not think I have done anything very wrong, grandmother.'

'Not wrong! You have done nothing wrong? You have done something
absolutely outrageous. You, my granddaughter, well born, well bred,
reared under my roof, to go up Helvellyn and lose yourself in a fog
alone with a young man. You could hardly have done worse if you were a
Cockney tourist,' concluded her ladyship, with ineffable disgust.

'I could not help the fog,' said Mary, quietly. The battle had to be
fought, and she was not going to flinch. 'I had no intention of going up
Helvellyn alone with Mr. Hammond. Maulevrier was to have gone with us;
but when we got to Dolly Waggon he was tired, and would not go any
further. He told me to go on with Mr. Hammond.'

'_He_ told you! Maulevrier!--a young man who has spent some of the best
hours of his youth in the company of jockeys and trainers--who hasn't
the faintest idea of the fitness of things. You allow Maulevrier to be
your guide in a matter in which your own instinct should have guided
you--your womanly instinct! But you have always been an unwomanly girl.
You have put me to shame many a time by your hoydenish tricks; but I
bore with you, believing that your madcap follies were at least
harmless. To-day you have gone a step too far, and have been guilty of
absolute impropriety, which I shall be very slow to pardon.'

'Perhaps you will be still more angry when you know all, grandmother,'
said Mary.

Lady Maulevrier flashed her dark eyes at the girl with a look which
would have almost killed a nervous subject; but Mary faced her
steadfastly, very pale, but as resolute as her ladyship.