THE MISSES MALLETT

(The Bridge Dividing)

by E. H. Young

Contents

BOOK I ROSE

BOOK II HENRIETTA

BOOK III ROSE AND HENRIETTA

Book I: _Rose_

§ 1

On the high land overlooking the distant channel and the hills beyondit, the spring day, set in azure, was laced with gold and green. Gorsebushes flaunted their colour, larch trees hung out their tassels andcelandines starred the bright green grass in an air which seemedpalpably blue. It made a mist among the trees and poured itself intothe ground as though to dye the earth from which hyacinths would soonspring. Far away, the channel might have been a still, blue lake, thehills wore soft blue veils and, like a giant reservoir, the deeperblue of the sky promised unlimited supplies. There were sheep andlambs bleating in the fields, birds sang with a piercing sweetness, and no human being was in sight until, up on the broad grassy trackwhich branched off from the main road and had the larch wood on oneside and, on the other, rough descending fields, there appeared awoman on a horse. The bit jingled gaily, the leather creaked, thehorse, smelling the turf, gave a snort of delight, but his riderrestrained him lightly. On her right hand was the open country slopingslowly to the water; on her left was the stealthiness of the larchwood; over and about everything was the blue day. Straight ahead ofher the track dipped to a lane, and beyond that the ground rose againin fields sprinkled with the drab and white of sheep and lambs andbacked by the elm trees of Sales Hall. She could see the chimneys ofthe house and the rooks' nests in the elm tops and, as though thesight reminded her of something mildly amusing, the smoothness of herface was ruffled by a smile, the stillness of her pose by a quickglance about her, but if she looked for anyone she did not find him. There were small sounds from the larch wood, little creakings andrustlings, but there was no human footstep, and the only visiblemovements were made by the breeze in the trees and in the grass, theflight of a bird and the distant gambolling of lambs. 

She rode on down the steep, stony slope into the lane, and afterhesitating for a moment she turned to the right where the lane wasbroadened by a border of rich grass and a hedge-topped bank. Hereprimroses lay snugly in their clumps of crinkled leaves and, wishingto feel the coolness of their slim, pale stalks between her fingers, Rose Mallett dismounted, slipped the reins over her arm and allowedher horse to feed while she stooped to the flowers. Then, in the fullsunshine, with the soft breeze trying to loosen her hair, with theflowers in her bare hand, she straightened herself, consciously happyin the beauty of the day, in the freedom and strength of her body, inthe smell of the earth and the sight of the country she had known andloved all her life. It was long since she had ridden here withoutencountering Francis Sales, who was bound up with her knowledge of thecountry, and who, quite evidently, wished to annex some of the loveshe lavished on it. This was a ridiculous desire which made her smileagain, yet, while she was glad to be alone, she missed the attentionof his presence. He had developed a capacity, which was like anothersense, for finding her when she rode on his domains or in theirneighbourhood, and she was surprised to feel a slight annoyance at hisabsence, an annoyance which, illogically, was increased by the sightof his black spaniel, the sure forerunner of his master, making hisway through the hedge. A moment later the tall figure of Sales himselfappeared above the budding twigs. 

He greeted her in the somewhat sulky manner to which she wasaccustomed. He was a young man with a grievance, and he looked at heras though to-day it were personified in her. 

She answered him cheerfully: 'What a wonderful day!'

'The day's all right, ' he said. 

Holding the primroses to her nose, she looked round. Catkins wereswaying lightly on the willows, somewhere out of sight a tiny runnelof water gurgled, the horse ate noisily, the grass had a vividness ofgreen like the concentrated thought of spring. 

'I don't see how anything can be wrong this morning, ' she said. 

'Ah, you're lucky to think so, ' he answered, gazing at her clear, paleprofile. 

'Well, ' she turned to ask patiently, 'what is the matter with you?'

'I'm worried. '

'Has a cow died?' And ignoring his angry gesture, she went on: 'Idon't think you take enough care of your property. Whenever I ridehere I find you strolling about miserably, with a dog. '

'That's your fault. '

'I don't quite see why, ' she said pleasantly; 'but no doubt you areright. But has a cow died?'

'Of course not. Why should it?'

'They do, I suppose?'

'It's the old man. He isn't well, and he's badgering me to go away, toCanada, and learn more about farming. '

'So you should. '

'Of course you'd say so. '

'Or do you think you can't?'

He missed, or ignored, her point. 'He's ill. I don't want to leavehim'; and in a louder voice he added, almost shouted, 'I don't want toleave you!'

Her grey eyes were watching the swinging catkins, her hand, liftingthe primroses, hid a smile. Again he had the benefit of her profile, the knot of her dark, thick hair and the shadowy line of hereyelashes, but she made no comment on his remark and after a moment ofsombre staring he uttered the one word, 'Well?'

'Yes?'

'Well, I've told you. '

'Oh, I think you ought to go. '

'Then you don't love me?'

From under her raised eyebrows she looked at him steadily. 'No, Idon't love you, ' she said slowly. There was no need to consider heranswer: she was sure of it. She was fond of him, but she could notromantically love some one who looked and behaved like a spoilt boy. She glanced from his handsome, frowning face in which the mouth wasopening for protest to a scene perfectly set for a love affair. Therewas not so much as a sheep in sight: there was only the horse who, careless of these human beings, still ate eagerly, chopping the goodgrass with his teeth, and the spaniel who panted self-consciously andwith a great affectation of exhaustion. The place was beautiful andthe sunlight had some quality of enchantment. Faint, delicious smellswere offered on the wind and withdrawn in caprice; the trees were alltipped with green and interlaced with blue air and blue sky; shewished she could say she loved him, and she repeated her denial halfregretfully. 

'Rose, ' he pleaded, 'I've known you all my life!'

'Perhaps that's why. Perhaps I know you too well. '

'You don't. You don't know how--how I love you. And I should bedifferent with you. I should be happy. I've never been happy yet. '

'You can't, ' she said slowly, 'get happiness through a person if youcan't get it through yourself. '

'Yes--if you are the person. '

She shook her head. 'I'm sorry. I can't help it. '

He reproached her. 'You've never thought about it. '

'Well, isn't that the same thing? And, ' she added, 'you're so faraway. '

'I can get through the hedge, ' he said practically. 

She smiled in the way that always puzzled, irritated and allured him. His words set him still farther off; he did not even understand herspeech. 

'Is it better now?' he asked, close to her. 

'No, no better. ' She looked at his face, so deeply tanned that hisbrown hair and moustache looked pale by contrast and his eyesextraordinarily blue. His appearance always pleased her. It was almosta part of the landscape, but the landscape was full of change, ofmystery in spite of its familiarity, and she found him dull, monotonous, with a sort of stupidity which was not without attraction, but which would be wearying for a whole life. She had no desire to behis wife and the mistress of Sales Hall, its fields and woods andfarms. The world was big, the possibilities in life were infinite, andshe felt she was fit, perhaps destined, to play a larger part thanthis he offered her, and if she could, as she foresaw, only play agreater one through the agency of some man, she must have that mancolossal, for she was only twenty-three years old. 

'No, ' she said firmly, 'we are not suited to each other. '

'You are to me. ' His angry helplessness seemed to darken the sunlight. 'You are to me. No one else. I've known you all my life. Rose, thinkabout it!'

'I shall--but I shan't change. I don't believe you really love me, Francis, but you want some one you can growl at legitimately. I don'tthink you would find me satisfactory. Another woman might enjoy theprivilege. '

He made a wild movement, startling to the horse. 'You don't understandme!'

'Well, then, that ought to settle it. And now I'm going. '

'Don't go, ' he pleaded. 'And look here, you might have loosened yourgirths. '

'I might, but I didn't expect to be here so long. I didn't expect tobe so pleasantly entertained. ' She put out her hand for his shoulder, and, bending unwillingly, he received her foot. 

'You needn't have said that, ' he muttered, 'about being entertained. '

'You're so ungracious, Francis. '

'I can't help it when I care so much. '

From her high seat she looked at him with a sort of envy. 'It must berather nice to feel anything deeply enough to make you rude. '

'You torture me, ' he said. 

She was hurt by the sight of his suffering, she wished she could givehim what he wanted, she felt as though she were injuring a child, yether youth resented his childishness: it claimed a passion capable ofoverwhelming her. She hardened a little. 'Good-bye, ' she said, 'and ifI were you, I should certainly go abroad. '

'I shall!' he threatened her. 

'Good-bye, then, ' she repeated amiably. 

'Don't go, ' he begged in a low voice. 'Rose, I don't believe you knowwhat you are doing, and you've always loved the country, you've alwaysloved our place. You like our house. You told me once you envied usour rookery. '

'Yes, I love the rookery, ' she said. 

'And you'd have your own stables and as many horses as you wanted--'

'And milk from our own cows! And home-laid eggs!'

'Ah, you're laughing at me. You always do. '

'So you see, ' she said, bending a little towards him, 'I shouldn'tmake a very good companion. '

'But I could put up with it from you!' he cried. 'I could put up withanything from you. '

She made a gesture. That was where he chiefly failed. The colossalgentleman of her imagination was a tyrant. 

 * * * * *

She rode home, up and along the track, on to the high road with itsgrass borders and across the shadows of the elm branches which stripedthe road with black. It was a long road accompanied on one side andfor about two miles by a tall, smooth wall, unscalable, guarding theprivacy of a local magnate's park. It was a pitiless wall, without achink, without a roughness that could be seized by hands; it washigher than Rose Mallett as she sat on her big horse and, but for theopen fields on the other side where lambs jumped and bleated, thatroad would have oppressed the spirit, for the wall was a solid witnessto the pride and the power of material possession. Rose Mallett hatedit, not on account of the pride and the power, but because it wasugly, monstrous, and so inhospitably smooth that not a moss would growon it. More vaguely, she disliked it because it set so definite alimit to her path. She was always glad when she could turn the cornerand, leaving the wall to prolong the side of the right angle it madeat this point, she could take a side road, edging a wooded slope. Thatslope made one side of the gorge through which the river ran, and, looking down through the trees, she caught glimpses of water and a redscar of rock on the other cliff. 

The sound of a steamer's paddles threshing the water came to herclearly, and the crying of the gulls was so familiar that she hardlynoticed it. And all the way she was thinking of Francis Sales, hisabsurdity, his good looks and his distress; but in the permanence ofhis distress, even in its sincerity, she did not much believe, for hehad failed to touch anything but her pity, and that failure seemed anargument against the vehemence of his love. Yet she liked him, she hadalways liked him since, as a little girl, she had been taken by herstepsisters to a haymaking party at Sales Hall. 

They had gone in a hired carriage, but one so smart and well-equippedthat it might have been their own, and she remembered the smell of theleather seats warmed by the sun, the sound of the horse's hoofs andthe sight of Caroline and Sophia, extremely gay in their summermuslins and shady hats, each holding a lace parasol to protect thecomplexion already delicately touched up with powder and rouge. Shehad been very proud of her stepsisters as she sat facing them and shehad decided to wear just such muslin dresses, just such hats, when shegrew up. Caroline was in pink with coral beads and a pink featherdrooping on her dark hair; and Sophia, very fair, with a freckle hereand there peeping, as though curious, through the powder, wore yellowwith a big-bowed sash. She was always very slim, and the only fairMallett in the family; but even in those days Caroline was inclined tostoutness. She carried it well, however, with a great dignity, fortified by reassurances from Sophia, and Rose's recollections of theconversations of these two was of their constant compliments to eachother and the tireless discussion of clothes. These conversationsstill went on. 

Fifteen years ago she had sat in that carriage in a white frock, withsocks and ankle-strapped black shoes, her long hair flowing down herback, and she had heard then, as one highly privileged, the words shewould hear again when she arrived home for tea. Under their tiltedparasols they had made their little speeches. No one was moredistinguished than Caroline; no girl of twenty had a prettier figurethan Sophia's; how well the pink feather looked against Caroline'shair. Rose, listening intently, but not staring too hard lest her gazeshould attract their attention to herself, had looked at the fieldsand at the high, smooth wall, and wondered whether she would ratherreach Sales Hall and enjoy the party, or drive on for ever in thisdelightful company, but the carriage turned up the avenue of elms andRose saw for the first time the house which Francis Sales now offeredas an attraction. It was a big, square house with honest, squarewindows, and the drive, shadowed by the elms, ran through the fieldswhere the haymaking was in progress. Only immediately in front of thehouse were there any flower-beds and there were no garden trees orshrubs. The effect was of great freedom and spaciousness, ofunaffected homeliness; and even then the odd delightful mixture ofhall and farm, the grandeur of the elm avenue set in the simplicity offields, gave pleasure to Rose Mallett's beauty-loving eyes. Anythingmight happen in a garden that suddenly became a field, in a field thatended in a garden, and the house had the same capacity for surprise. 

There was a matted hall sunk a foot below the threshold, and to Rose, accustomed to the delicate order of Nelson Lodge with its slim, shining, old furniture, its polished brass and gleaming silver, thecomfortable carelessness of this place, with a man's cap on the halltable, a group of sticks and a pair of slippers in a corner, and anopened newspaper on a chair, seemed the very home of freedom. It was amasculine house in which Mrs. Sales, a gentle lady with a fichu oflace round her soft neck, looked strangely out of place, yet entirelyhappy in her strangeness. 

On the day of the party Rose had only a glimpse of the interior. Thethree Miss Malletts, Caroline sweeping majestically ahead, were ledinto the hayfield where Mrs. Sales sat serenely in a wicker chair. Itwas evident at once that Mr. Sales, bluff and hearty, with gaiteredlegs, was fond of little girls. He realized that this one with theblack hair and the solemn grey eyes would prefer eating strawberriesfrom the beds to partaking of them with cream from a plate; he knewwithout being told that she would not care for gambolling with otherchildren in the hay; he divined her desire to see the pigs and horses, and it was near the pigsties that she met Francis Sales. He was tallfor twelve years old and Rose respected him for his age and size; butshe wondered why he was with the pigs instead of with his guests, towhom his father drove him off with a laugh. 

'Says he can't bear parties, ' Mr. Sales remarked genially to Rose. 'What do you think of that?'

'I like pigs, too, ' Rose answered, to be surprised by his prolongedchuckle. 

Mr. Sales, in the intervals of his familiar conversation with thepigs, wanted to know why Rose had not brought her father with her. 

'Oh, he's too old, ' Rose said, rather shocked. Her father had alwaysseemed old to her, as indeed he was, for she was the child of hissecond marriage, and her young mother had died when she was born. Herstepsisters, devoted to the little girl, and perhaps not altogethersorry to be rid of a stepmother younger than themselves, had tried tomake up for that loss, but they were much occupied with the socialactivities of Radstowe and they belonged to an otherwise inactivegeneration, so that if Rose had a grievance it was that they neverplayed games with her, never ran, or played ball or bowled hoops asshe saw the mothers of other children doing. For such sporting she hadto rely upon her nurse who was of rather a solemn nature and likedlittle girls to behave demurely out of doors. 

General Mallett saw to it that his youngest daughter early learnt toride. Her memories of him were of a big man on a big horse, nottalkative, somewhat stern and sad, becoming companionable only whenthey rode out together on the high Downs crowning the old city, andthen he was hardly recognizable as the father who heard her prayersevery night. These two duties of teaching her to ride and of hearingher pray, and his insistence on her going, as Caroline and Sophia haddone, to a convent school in France, made up, as far as she couldremember, the sum of his interest in her, and when she returned homefrom school for the last time, it was to attend his funeral. 

She was hardly sorry, she was certainly not glad; she envied thespontaneous tears of her stepsisters, and she found the lugubriousnessof the occasion much alleviated by the presence of her stepbrotherReginald. She had hardly seen him since her childhood. Sophia alwaysspoke of him as she might have spoken of the dead. Caroline sometimesreferred to him in good round terms, sometimes with an indulgentlaugh; and for Rose he had the charm of mystery, the fascination ofthe scapegrace. He was handsome, but good looks were a prerogative ofthe Malletts; he was married to a wife he had never introduced to hisfamily and he had a little girl. What his profession was, Rose did notknow. Perhaps his face was his fortune, as certainly his sisters hadbeen his victims. 

After the funeral he had several interviews with Caroline and Sophia, when Rose could hear the mannish voice of Caroline growing gruff withindignation and the high tones of Sophia rising to a squeak. Heemerged from these encounters with an angry face and a weak mouthstubbornly set; but for Rose he had always a gay word or a prettyspeech. She was a real Mallett, he told her; she was more his sisterthan the others, and she liked to hear him say so because he had akind of grace and a caressing voice, yet the cool judgment which wasnever easily upset assured her that a man with his mouth must be inthe wrong. He was, in fact, pursuing his old practice of extractingmoney from his sisters, and he only returned, presumably, to his wifeand child, when James Batty, the family solicitor, had been called tothe ladies' aid. 

But they both cried when he went away. 

'He is so lovable, ' Sophia sobbed. 

'My dear, he's a rake, ' Caroline replied, carefully dabbing hercheeks. 'All the Malletts are rakes--yes, even the General. Oh, hetook to religion in the end, I know, but that's what they do. ' Shechuckled. 'When there's nothing left! I'm afraid I shall take to itmyself some day. I've sown my wild oats, too. Oh, no, I'm not going totell Rose anything about them, Sophia. You needn't be afraid, butshe'll hear of them sooner or later from anybody who remembersCaroline Mallett in her youth. '

Rose had received this confession gravely, but she had not needed thereassurance of Sophia; 'It isn't so, dear Rose--a flirt, yes, butnever wicked, never! My dear, of course not!'

'Of course not, ' Rose repeated. She had already realized that herstepsisters must be humoured. 

 * * * * *

Riding slowly, Rose recalled that haymaking party and her gradualfriendship, as the years went by, with the unsociable young Sales, afriendship which had been tacitly recognized by them both when, meeting her soon after his mother's death, he had laid his arms andhead on the low stone wall by which they were standing, and weptwithout restraint. It was a display she could not have given herselfand it shocked her in a young man, but it left her in his debt. Shefelt she owed something to a person who had shown such confidence inher and though at the time she had been dumb and, as it seemed to her, far from helpful, she did not forget her liability. However, she couldnot remember it to the extent of marrying him; she had always shownhim more kindness than she really felt and, in considering thesethings on her way home, she decided that she was still doing as muchas he could expect. 

She had by this time turned another corner and the high bridge, swungfrom one side of the gorge to the other, was before her. At the toll-housewas the red-faced man who had not altered in the whiteness of asingle hair since she had been taken across the bridge by her nurseand allowed to peep fearfully through the railings which had toweredlike a forest above her head. And the view from the bridge was stillfor her a fairy vision. 

Seawards, the river, now full and hiding its muddy banks which, revealed, had their own opalescent beauty, went its way between thecliffs, clothed on one hand with trees, save for a big red and yellowgash where the stone was being quarried, and on the other with barerock, topped by the Downs spreading far out of sight. Landwards theriver was trapped into docks, spanned by low bridges and made into theglistening part of a patchwork of water, brick and iron. Red-roofedold houses, once the haunts of fashion, were clustered near the waterbut divided from it now by tram-lines, companion anachronisms to thesteamers entering and leaving the docks, but by the farther shore, onesmall strip of river was allowed to flow in its own way, and itskirted meadows rising to the horizon and carrying with them more ofthose noble elms in which the whole countryside was rich. 

Her horse's hoofs sounding hollow on the bridge, Rose passed across, and at the other toll-house door she saw the thin, pale man, withspectacles on the end of his pointed nose, who had first touched hishat to her when she rode on a tiny pony by the side of her father onhis big horse. That man was part of her life and she, presumably, waspart of his. He had watched many Upper Radstowe children from theperambulator stage, and to him she remarked on the weather, as she haddone to the red-faced man at the other end. It was a beautiful day;they were having a wonderful spring; it would soon be summer, shesaid, but on repetition these words sounded false and intenselydreary. It would soon be summer, but what did that mean to her?Festivities suited to the season would be resumed in Radstowe. Therewould be lawn tennis in the big gardens, and young men in flannels andgirls in white would stroll about the roads and gay voices would beheard in the dusk. There would be garden-parties, and Mrs. Batty, thewife of the lawyer, would be lavish with tennis for the young, gossipfor the middle-aged and unlimited strawberries and ices for all. Rosewould be one of the guests at this as at all the parties and, for thefirst time, as though her refusal of Francis Sales had had somestrange effect, as though that rejected future had created a distastefor the one fronting her, she was aghast at the prospect of perpetualchatter, tea and pretty dresses. She was surely meant for somethingbetter, harder, demanding greater powers. She had, by inheritance, good manners, a certain social gift, but she had here nothing toconquer with these weapons. What was she to do? The idea of qualifyingfor the business of earning her bread did not occur to her. No femaleMallett had ever done such a thing, and not all the male ones. Marriage opened the only door, but not marriage with Francis Sales, not marriage with anyone she knew in Radstowe, and her stepsisters hadno inclination to leave the home of their youth, the scene of theirpast successes, for her sake. 

Rose sat very straight on her horse, not frowning, for she neverfrowned, but wearing rather a set expression, so that an acquaintance, passing unrecognized, made the usual reflection on the youngest MissMallett's pride, and the pity that one so young should sometimes lookso old. 

And Rose was wishing that the spring would last for ever, the springwith its promise of excitement and adventure which would not befulfilled, though one was willingly deceived into believing that itwould. Yet she had youth's happy faith in accident: somethingbreathless and terrific would sweep her, as on the winds of storm, outof this peaceful, gracious life, this place where feudalism stillsurvived, where men touched their hats to her as her due. And it washer due! She raised her head and gave her pale profile to the houseson one side, the trees and the open spaces of green on the other. Andnot because she was a Mallett though it was a name honoured inRadstowe, but because she was herself. Hats would always be touched toher, and it was the touchers who would feel themselves complimented inthe act. She knew that, but the knowledge was not much to her; shewished she could offer homage for a change, and the colossal figure ofher imagination loomed up again; a rough man, perhaps; yes, he mightbe rough if he were also great; rough and the scandal of herstepsisters!

As she rode under the flowering trees to the stable where she kept herhorse, she wondered whether she should tell her stepsisters of FrancisSales's proposal, but she knew she would not do so. She seldom toldthem anything they did not know already. They would think it areasonable match; they might urge her acceptance; they were anxiousfor her to marry, but Caroline, at least, was proud of the inherentMallett distaste for the marriage state. 'We're all flirts, ' she wouldsay for the thousandth time. 'We can't settle down, not one of us, 'and holding up a thumb and forefinger and pinching them together, shewould add, 'We like to hold men's hearts like that--and let them go!'It was great nonsense, Rose thought, but it had the necessary spice oftruth. The Malletts were not easily pleased, and they were not goodgivers of anything except gold, the easiest thing to give. Rose wishedshe could give the difficult things--love, devotion, and self-sacrifice;but she could not, or perhaps she had no opportunity. She was fondof her stepsisters, but her most conscious affection was the one shefelt for her horse. 

She left him at the stable and, fastening up her riding-skirt, shewalked slowly home. She had not far to go. A steep street, wherenarrow-fronted old houses informed the public that apartments were tobe let within, brought her to the broad space of grass and treescalled The Green, which she had just passed on her horse. Straightahead of her was the wide street flanked by houses of which her homewas one--a low white building hemmed in on each side by another andwith a small walled garden in front of it; not a large house, but onefull of character and of quiet self-assurance. Malletts had lived init for several generations, long before the opposite houses werebuilt, long before the road had, lower down, degenerated into a regionof shops. These houses, all rechristened in a day of enthusiasm, Nelson Lodge, with Trafalgar House, taller, bigger, but not so white, on one side of it, and Hardy Cottage, somewhat smaller, on the other, had faced open meadows in General Mallett's boyhood. Round the corner, facing The Green, were a few contemporaries, and they all had a slightlook of disdain for the later comers, yet no single house wasflagrantly new. There was not a villa in sight and on The Green twoold stone monuments, to long-dead and long-forgotten warriors, keptcompany with the old trees under which children were now playing, while nurses wheeled perambulators on the bisecting paths. The Greenitself sloped upwards until it became a flat-topped hill, once aBritish or a Roman camp, and thence the river could be seen betweenits rocky cliffs and the woods Rose had lately skirted clothing thefarther side in every shade of green. 

She lingered for a moment to watch the children playing, thenursemaids slowly pushing, the elms opening their crumpled leaves likebabies' hands. She had a momentary desire to stay, to wander round thehill and look with untired eyes at the familiar scene; but she passedon under the tyranny of tea. The Malletts were always in time formeals and the meals were exquisite, like the polish on the old brassdoor-knocker, like the furniture in the white panelled hall, like thebeautiful old mahogany in the drawing-room, the old china, the glassbowls full of flowers. 

Rose found Caroline and Sophia there on either side of a small woodfire, while, facing the fire and spread in a chair not too low and nottoo narrow for her bulk, sat Mrs. Batty, flushed, costumed for spring, her hat a flower garden. 

'Just in time, ' Caroline said. 'Touch the bell, please, Sophia. '

'Susan saw me, ' Rose said, and the elderly parlourmaid entered at thatmoment with the teapot. 

'Rose insists on having a latchkey, ' Sophia explained. 'What would theGeneral have said?'

'What, indeed!' Caroline echoed. 'Young rakes are always old prudes. Yes, the General was a rake, Sophia; you needn't look so modest. Ithink I understand men. '

'Yes, yes, Caroline, no one better, but we are told to honour ourfather and mother. '

'And I do honour him, ' Caroline guffawed, 'honour him all the more. 'She had a deep voice and a deep laugh; she ought, she always said, tohave been a man, but there was nothing masculine about her appearance. Her dark hair, carefully tinted where greyness threatened, was piledin many puffs above a curly fringe: on the bodice of her flounced silkfrock there hung a heavy golden chain and locket; ear-rings dangledfrom her large ears; there were rings on her fingers, and powder and ahint of rouge on her face. 

She laughed again. 'Mrs. Batty knows I'm right. '

Mrs. Batty's tightly gloved hand made a movement. She was a little inawe of the Miss Malletts. With them she was always conscious of herinferior descent. No General had ever ornamented her family, and hermarriage with James Batty had been a giddy elevation for her, but shewas by no means humble. She had her place in local society: she had afine house in that exclusive part of Radstowe called The Slope, andher husband was a member of the oldest firm of lawyers in the city. 

'You are very naughty, Miss Caroline, ' she said, knowing that was theremark looked for. She gave a little nod of her flower-covered head. 'And we've just got to put up with them, whatever they are. '

'Yes, yes, poor dears, ' Sophia murmured. 'They're different, theycan't help it. '

'Nonsense, ' Caroline retorted, 'they're just the same, there's nothingto choose between me and Reginald--nothing except discretion!'

'Oh, Caroline dear!' Sophia entreated. 

'Discretion!' Caroline repeated firmly, and Mrs. Batty, bendingforward stiffly because of her constricting clothes, and with a creakand rustle, ventured to ask in low tones, 'Have you any news of Mr. Mallett lately?' The three elder ladies murmured together; Rose, indifferent, concerned with her own thoughts, ate a creamy cake. Thiswas one of the conversations she had heard before and there was noneed for her to listen. 

She was roused by the departure of Mrs. Batty. 

'Poor thing, ' Caroline remarked as the door closed. 'It's a pity shehas no daughter with an eye for colour. The roses in her hat were palein comparison with her face. Why doesn't she use a little powder, though I suppose that would turn her purple, and after all, she doesvery well considering what she is; but why, why did James Batty marryher? And he was one of our own friends! You remember the sensation atthe time, Sophia?'

Sophia remembered very well. 'She was a pretty girl, Caroline, andgood-natured. She has lost her looks, but she still has a kind heart. '

'Personally I would rather keep my looks, ' said Caroline, touching herfringe before the mirror. 'And I never had a kind heart to cherish. '

Tenderly Sophia shook her head. 'It isn't true, ' she whispered toRose. 'The kindest in the world. It's just her way. '

Rose nodded understanding; then she stood up, tall and slim in hersevere clothes, her high boots. The gilt clock on the mantelpiece saidit was only five o'clock. There were five more hours before she couldreasonably go to bed. 

'Where did you ride to-day, dear?' Sophia asked. 

'Over the bridge. ' And to dissipate some of her boredom, she added, 'Imet Francis Sales. He thinks of going abroad. '

There was an immediate confusion of little exclamations and a chatter. 'Going abroad? Why?'

'To learn farming. '

'Oh, dear, ' Sophia sighed, 'and we thought--we hoped--'

'She must do as she likes, ' Caroline said, and Rose smiled. 'TheMalletts don't care for marrying. Look at us, free as the air and withplenty of amusing memories. In this world nobody gets more than that, and we have been saved much trouble. Don't marry, my dear Rose. '

'You're assuming a good deal, ' Rose said. 

'But Rose is not like us, ' Sophia protested. 'We have each other, butwe shall die before she does and leave her lonely. She ought to marry, Caroline; we ought to have more parties. We are not doing our duty. '

'Parties! No!' Rose said. 'We have enough of them. If you threaten mewith more I shall go into a convent. '

Caroline laughed, and Sophia sighed again. 'That would be beautiful, 'she said. 

'Sophia, how dare you?'

Sophia persisted mildly: 'So romantic--a young girl giving up all forGod;' and Caroline gave the ribald laugh on which she prided herself--a shocking sound. 'Rose Mallett, ' Sophia went on, so lost in hervision that the jarring laughter was not heard, 'such a pretty name--anun! She would never be forgotten: people would tell their children. Sister Rose!' She developed her idea. 'Saint Rose! It's as pretty asSaint Cecilia--prettier!'

'Sophia, you're in your dotage, ' Caroline cried. 'A Mallett and a nun!Well, she could pray for the rest of us, I suppose. '

'But I would rather you were married, dear, ' Sophia said serenely. 'And we have known the Sales all our lives. It would have been sosuitable. '

'So dull!' Rose murmured. 

'And we need praying for, ' Caroline said. 'You'd be dull either way, Rose. Have your fling, as I did. I've never regretted it. I was thetalk of Radstowe, wasn't I, Sophia? There was never a ball where I wasnot looked for, and when I entered the ballroom'--she gave a displayof how she did it--'there was a rush of black coats and white shirts--a mob--I used just to wave them all away--like that. Oh, yes, Sophia, you were a belle, too--'

'But never as you were, Caroline. '

'You were admired for yourself, Sophia, but with me it was curiosity. They only wanted to hear what I should say next. I had a tongue like alash! They were afraid of it. '

'Yes, yes, ' Sophia said hastily, and she glanced at Rose, afraid ofmeeting scepticism in her clear young eyes; but though Rose wassmiling it was not in mockery. She was thinking of her childhood when, like a happier Cinderella, she had seen her stepsisters, in satins andlaces, with pendant fans and glittering jewels, excited, rustling, with little words of commendation for each other, setting out for theevening parties of which they never tired. They had always kissed herbefore they went, looking, she used to think, as beautiful asprincesses. 

'And men like what they fear, ' Caroline added. 

'Yes, dear, ' Sophia said. A natural flush appeared round the delicatedabs of rouge. She hoped she might be forgiven for her tender deceits. Those young men in the white waistcoats had often laughed at Carolinerather than at her wit; she was, as Sophia had shrinkingly divined, asoften as not their butt, and dear Caroline had never known it; shemust never know it, never know it. She drew half her happiness fromthe past, as, so differently, Sophia did herself, and, drooping alittle, her thoughts went farther back to the last year of her teenswhen a pale and penniless young man had been her secret suitor, hadgone to America to make his fortune there--and died. She had told noone; Caroline would have scorned him because he was shy and timid, andhe had not had time to earn enough to keep her; he had not had time. She had a faded photograph of him pushed away at the back of a drawerof the walnut bureau in the bedroom she shared with Caroline, a paleyoung man wearing a collar too large for his thin neck, a young manwith kind, honest eyes. It was a grief to her that she could not wearthat photograph in a locket near her heart, but Caroline would havefound out. They had slept in the same bed since they were children, and nothing could be hidden from her except the love she stillcherished in her heart. Some day she meant to burn that photographlest unsympathetic hands should touch it when she died; but deathstill seemed far off, and sometimes, even while she was talking toCaroline, she would pretend to rummage in the drawer, and for a momentshe would close her hand upon the photograph to tell him she had notforgotten. She loved her little romance, and the gaiety in which shehad persisted, even on the day when she heard of his death and whichat first had seemed a necessary but cruel disloyalty, had become inher mind the tenderest of concealments, as though she had wrapped hersecret in beauty, laughter, music and shining garments. 

'Oh, yes, dear Rose, ' she said, lifting her head, 'you must bemarried. '

§ 2

The outward life of the Mallett household was elegant and ordered. Footsteps fell quietly on the carpeted stairs and passages; doors werequietly opened and closed. The cook and the parlourmaid were old andtrusted servants; the house and kitchen maids were respectable youngwomen fitting themselves for promotion, and their service was givenwith the thoroughness and deference to which the Malletts wereaccustomed. In the whole house there was hardly an object withoutbeauty or tradition, the notable exception being the portrait ofGeneral Mallett which hung above the Sheraton sideboard in thedining-room, a gloomy daub, honoured for the General's sake. 

From the white panelled hall, the staircase with its white banistersand smooth mahogany rail led to a square landing which branched offnarrowly on two sides, and opening from the square were the bedroomoccupied by Rose, the one shared by her stepsisters and the one whichhad been Reginald's. This room was never used, but it was kept, likeeverything else in that house, in a state of cleanliness and polish, ready for his arrival. He might come: if he needed money badly enoughhe would come, and in spite of the already considerable depletion oftheir capital, Caroline and Sophia lived in hope of hearing hisimpatient assault of the door-knocker, the brass head of a lionholding a heavy ring in his mouth. Rose, too, wished he would come, but that last interview with the lawyer Batty had been more successfulthan anyone but the lawyer himself had wished, and there was no knock, no letter, no news. 

The usual life of parties, calls and concerts continued without anyexcitement but that felt by Caroline and Sophia in the getting of newclothes, the refurbishing of old ones, the hearing of the latestgossip, the reading of the latest novel. Sophia sometimes apologizedfor the paper-backed books lying about the drawing-room by saying thatshe and dear Caroline liked to keep up their French, but Carolineloudly proclaimed her taste for salacious literature. She had areputation to keep up and she liked to shock her friends; buteverything was forgiven to Miss Mallett, the more readily, perhaps, after Sophia's reassuring whisper, 'They are really charming books, quite beautiful, nothing anybody could disapprove of. Why, there ishardly an episode to make one shrink, though, of course, the Frenchare different, ' and the Radstowe ladies would nod over their tea andsay, 'Of course, quite different!'

But Caroline, suspecting that murmured explanation, had been known tocall out in her harsh voice, 'It's no good asking Sophia about them. She simply doesn't understand the best bits! She is _jeune fille_still, she always will be!' Sophia, blushing a little, would feelherself richly complimented, and the ladies laughed, Mrs. Battyuncertainly, having no acquaintance with the French language. 

Rose read steadily through all the books in the house and gained avarious knowledge which left her curiously untouched. She studiedmusic, and liked it better than anything else because it rousedemotions otherwise unobtainable, yet she did not care much for theemotional kind. Perhaps her intensest feeling was the desire to feelintensely, but being half ashamed of this desire she rarely dwelt onit; she pursued her way, calm and aloof and proud. She was beautifuland found pleasure in the contemplation of herself, and though she didnot discuss her appearance as her stepsisters discussed theirs, shespent a good deal of time on it and much money on her plain butperfect clothes. All three had more money than they needed, but Rosewas richer than the others, having inherited her mother's littlefortune as well as her share of what the General had left. She was, asCaroline often told her with a hit at that gentleman's unnecessaryimpartiality, a very desirable match. 'But they're afraid of you, mydear; they were afraid of me, but I amused them, while you simply lookas if they were not there. Of course, that's attractive in its way, and one must follow one's own line, but it takes a brave man to comeup to the scratch. '

'Caroline, what an expression!'

'Well, I want a brave man, ' Rose said, 'if I want one at all. '

Caroline turned on Sophia. 'What's language for except to expressoneself? You're out of date, Sophia; you always were, and I've alwaysbeen ahead of my time. Now, Rose, '--these personalities were dear toCaroline--'Rose belongs to no time at all. That frightens them. Theydon't understand. You can't imagine a Radstowe young man making loveto the Sphinx. They were more daring when I was young. Look atReginald! Look at the General!'

'It was his profession, ' Rose remarked. 

'Yes, I suppose that's what he told himself when he married yourmother, a mere girl, no older than myself, but he was afraid of herand adored her. I believe men always like their second wives best--they're flattered at succeeding in getting two. I know men. Our ownmother was pious and made him go to church, but with your mother helooked as if he were in a temple all the time. Those big, stern menare always managed by their women; it's the thin men with weak legswho really go their own way. '

'Caroline, ' Sophia sighed, 'I don't know how you think of such things. Is that an epigram?'

'I don't know, ' Caroline said, 'but I shouldn't be surprised. '

Smiling in her mysterious way, Rose left the room, and Sophia, slightly pink with anxiety, murmured, 'Caroline, there's no one inRadstowe really fit for her. Don't you think we ought to go about, perhaps to London, or abroad?'

'I'm not going to budge, ' Caroline said. 'I love my home and I don'tbelieve in matchmaking, I don't believe in marriage. It wouldn't doher any good, but if you feel like that, why don't you exploit heryourself?'

'Oh--exploit! Certainly not! And you know I couldn't leave you. '

'Then don't talk nonsense, ' Caroline said, and the life at NelsonLodge went on as before. 

Every day Rose rode out, sometimes early in the morning on the Downswhen nobody was about and she had them to herself, but oftener acrossthe bridge into the other county where the atmosphere and the look ofthings were immediately different, softer, more subtle yet moreexhilarating. She went there now with no fear of meeting FrancisSales. He had gone to Canada without another word, and his absencemade him interesting for the first time. If she had not been bored ina delicate way of her own which left no mark but an expression ofimpassivity she would not have thought of him at all; but the dayswent by and summer passed into autumn and autumn was threatened bywinter, with so little change beyond the coming and going of flowersand leaves and birds, that her mind began to fix itself on a man wholoved her to the point of disgust and departure; and to her love ofthe country round about Sales Hall was added a tender half-ironicsentiment. 

Once or twice she rode up to the Hall itself and paid a visit to Mr. Sales who, crippled by rheumatism and half suffocated by asthma, was hardly recognizable as the man who had shown her the pigs longago. In the little room called the study, where there was not a singlebook, or in the big clear drawing-room of pale chintzes and faded, gilt-framed water-colours, he entertained her with the ceremony dueto a very beautiful and dignified young woman, producing the latestletter from his son and reading extracts from it. Sometimes there was aphotograph of Francis on a horse, Francis with a dog, or Francis at asteam plough or other agricultural machine, but these she onlypretended to examine. She had not the least desire to see how helooked, for in these last months she had made a picture of her own andshe would not have it overlaid by any other. It was a game ofpretence; she knew she was wasting her time; she had her youth andstrength and money and limitless opportunity for wide experience, buther very youth, and the feeling that it would last for ever, made hercareless of it. There was plenty of time, she could afford to wasteit, and gradually that occupation became a habit, almost anabsorption. She warned herself that she must shake it off, but theeffort would leave her very bare, it would rob her of the fairy cloakwhich made her inner self invisible, and she clung to it, secure inher ability to be rid of it if she chose. 

Her intellect made no mistake about Francis Sales, but herimagination, finding occupation where it could, began to endow himwith romance, and that scene among the primroses, the startlinglygreen grass, the pervading blue of the air, the horse so indifferentto the human drama, the dog trying to understand it, became thesalient event of her life because it had awakened her capacity fordreaming. 

She did not love him, she could never love him, but he had loved her, angrily, and, in retrospect, the absurd manner of his proposal had acharm. She would have given much to know whether his feeling for herpersisted. From the letters read wheezily by Mr. Sales and sometimeshanded to her to read for herself, she learnt so little that she wasthe freer to create a great deal and, riding home, she would breakinto astonished inward laughter. Rose Mallett playing a game ofsentiment! And, crossing the bridge and passing through the streetswhere she was known to every second person, she had pleasure in theconviction that no one could have guessed what absurdity went onbehind the pale, impassive face, what secret and unsuspected amusementshe enjoyed; a little comedy of her own! The unsuitability of FrancisSales for the part of hero supplied most of the humour and saved herfrom loss of dignity. The thing was obviously absurd; she had nevercared for dolls, but in her young womanhood she was finding amusementin the manipulation of a puppet. 

The death of Mr. Sales in the cold March of the next year shocked herfrom her game. She was sorry he had gone, for she had always likedhim, and he seemed to have taken with him the little girl who was fondof pigs, and while Caroline and Sophia mourned the loss of an oldfriend, Rose was faced with the certainty of his son's return. Shewould have to stop her ridiculous imaginings, she must pretend she hadnever had them for, when she saw him as flesh and blood, her gamewould be ruined and she would be shamed. The imminence of his arrivalreminded her of his dullness, his handsome, sullen face and, moretenderly, of those tears which had put her so oddly in his debt. Butshe had no difficulty in casting away the false image she had made. She was, she found, glad to be rid of it; she liked to feel herselfdelivered of a weakness. 

But she need not have been in such a hurry, for it was some monthsbefore the man who brought the milk from Sales Hall also brought thenews that the master was returning. This information was handed toCaroline and Sophia with their early tea. 

Sitting up in bed and looking grotesquely terrible, they discussed theevent. Caroline, like Medusa, but with hair curlers instead of snakessprouting from her head, and Sophia with her heavy plait hanging overher shoulder and defying with its luxuriance the yellowness of herskin, they sat side by side, propped up with pillows, inured to thesight of each other in undress. 

'He has come back!' Sophia said ecstatically. 'Perhaps after all--'

'Oh, nonsense!' Caroline said as usual, 'she's meant for betterthings. My dear, she was born for a great affair. She ought to be themistress of a king. Yes, something of that kind, with her looks, herphlegm. '

'But there are no kings in Radstowe, ' Sophia said, 'and I don't thinkyou ought to say such things. '

'It's my way. You ought to know that. And I can't control my tongueany more than Reginald can control his body. '

'Caroline!'

'And I don't want to. We're all wrapped up in cotton-wool nowadays. Iought to have lived in another century. I, too, would have adorned acourt, and kept it lively! There's no wit left in the world, andthere's no wickedness of the right kind. We might as well beNonconformists at once. '

'Certainly not, ' Sophia said firmly. 'Certainly not that. '

'But as you so cleverly remind me, there are no kings in Radstowe. There's not even, ' she added with a mocking smile which made her facegay in a ghastly way, 'not even a foreign Count who would turn out animpostor. Rose would do very well there, too. An imitation foreignCount with a black moustache and no money! She would be magnificentand tragic. Imagine them at Monte Carlo, keeping it up! She would hatehim, grandly; she would hate herself for being deceived; she wouldnever lose her dignity. You can't picture Rose with a droop or a tear. They'd trail about the Continent and she would never come back. '

'But we don't want her to go away at all, ' Sophia cried. 

'And when she came to the point of being afraid of murdering him, shewould leave him without any fuss and live alone and mysterioussomewhere in the South of France, or Italy, or Spain. Yes, Spain. There must be real Counts there and she would get her love affair atlast. '

'But she would still be married. '

'Of course!' Caroline, looking roguish, was terrible. 'That isnecessary for a love affair, _ma chère_. '

'I would much rather she married Francis Sales and came to see usevery week. Or any other nice young man in Radstowe. She would nevermarry beneath her. '

'On the contrary, ' Caroline remarked, 'she's bound to marry beneathher--not in class, Sophia, not in class, though in Radstowe that'spossible, too. Look at the Battys! But certainly in brains andmanners. '

Sophia, clinging to her own idea, repeated plaintively, 'I wouldrather it were Francis Sales, and he must be lonely in that bighouse. '

It appeared, however, that he was not to be lonely, for Susan, entering with hot water, let fall in her discreet, impersonal way, another piece of gossip. 'John Gibbs says they think Mr. Francis mustbe bringing home a wife, Miss Caroline. He's having some of the roomsdone up. '

'Ah!' said Caroline, and her plump elbow pressed Sophia's. 'Whichrooms, I wonder?'

'I did not inquire, Miss Caroline. '

'Then kindly inquire this afternoon, and tell him the butter isdeteriorating, but inquire first or you'll get nothing out of him. 'She turned with malicious triumph to Sophia. 'So that dream's over!'

'We shall have to break it to her gently, ' Sophia said; 'but it maynot be true. '

In the dining-room over which the General's portrait tried, andfailed, to preside, as he himself had done in life, and where he wasconquered by an earlier and a later generation, by the shiningeloquence of the old furniture and silver and the living flesh andblood of his children, Caroline gave Rose the news without, Sophiathought, a spark of delicacy. 

'They say Francis Sales is bringing home a wife. '

'Really?' Rose said, taking toast. 

'He has sent orders for part of the house to be done up. '

Rose raised her eyes. 'Ah, she's hurt, ' Sophia thought, but Rosemerely said, 'If he touches the drawing-room or the study I shallnever forgive him'; and then, thoughtfully, she added, 'but he won'ttouch the drawing-room. '

'H'm, he'll do what his wife tells him, I imagine. No girl willappreciate Mrs. Sales's washy paintings. '

'Rose would, ' Sophia sighed. 

'Yes, I do, ' Rose said cheerfully. She was too cheerful for Sophia'sromantic little theory, but an acuter audience would have found hertoo cheerful for herself. She had overdone it by half a tone, but theexaggeration was too fine for any ears but her own. She was, as amatter of fact, in the grip of a violent anger. She was not the kindof woman to resent the new affections of a rejected lover, but shehad, through her own folly, attached herself to Francis Sales, as, less unreasonably, his tears had once attached him to her, and theimmaterial nature of the bond composed its strength. Consciouslyfoolish as her thoughts had been, they became at that breakfast table, with the water bubbling in the spirit kettle and the faint crunch ofCaroline eating toast, intensely real, and she was angry both withherself and with his unfaithfulness. She did not love him--how couldshe?--but he belonged to her; and now, if this piece of gossip turnedout to be true, she must share him with another. Jealousy, in itsusual sense, she had none as yet, but she had forged a chain she wasto find herself unable to break. It was her pride to consider herselfa hard young person, without spirituality, without sentiment, yet allher personal relationships were to be of the fantastic kind she nowexperienced, all her obligations such as others would have ignored. 

'We shall know more when John Gibbs brings the afternoon milk, 'Caroline said. 

Rose went upstairs and left her stepsisters to their repetitions. Herwindow looked out on the little walled front garden and the broadstreet. Tradesmen's carts went by without hurry, ladies walked outwith their dogs, errand-boys loitered in the sun, and presentlyCaroline and Sophia went down the garden path, Caroline sailingmajestically like a full-rigged ship, Sophia with her girlish, tripping gait. They put up their sunshades, and sailed out on whatwas, in effect, a foraging expedition. They were going to collect thenews. 

Outside the gate, they were hidden by the wall, but for a little whileRose could hear Caroline's loud voice. Without doubt she was talkingof Francis Sales, unless she were asking Sophia if her hat, a largeone with pink roses, really became her. Rose knew it all so well, andshe closed her eyes for a moment in weariness. Suddenly she felt tiredand old; the flame of her anger had died down, and for that moment sheallowed herself to droop. She found little comfort in the fact thatshe alone knew of her folly, and calling it folly no longer justifiedit. She, too, had been rejected, more cruelly than had Francis Sales, for she had given him something of her spirit. And she had liked toimagine him far away, thinking of her and of her beauty; she hadfancied him remembering the scene among the primroses and continuingto adore her in his sulky, inarticulate way. Well, he would think ofher no more, but she was subtly bound to him, first by his need, andnow, against all reason, by her thoughts. She had already learnt thattime, which sometimes seems so swift and heartless, is also slow andkind. Her feelings would lose their intensity; she only had to wait, and she waited with that outward impassivity which did not spoil herbeauty; it suited the firm modelling of her features, the creamywhiteness of her skin, the clear grey eyes under the straight darkeyebrows, and the lips bent into the promise of a smile. 

Caroline and Sophia waited differently, first for the afternoon milkand the information they wanted and, during the next weeks, for therumours which slowly developed into acknowledged facts. Thehousekeeper at Sales Hall had heard from the young master: he wasmarried and returning immediately with his wife. Caroline sniffed andhoped the woman was respectable; Sophia was charitably certain shewould be a charming girl; and Rose, knowing she questioned one of thelife occupations of her stepsisters, said coolly, 'Why speculate? Weshall see her soon. We must go and call. '

'Of course, ' Caroline said, and Sophia, with her fixed idea, which wasright in the wrong way, said gently, 'If you're sure you want to go, dear. '

'Me?' asked Caroline. 

'No, no, I was thinking of Rose. '

'Nonsense!' Caroline said, 'we're all going'; and Rose reassuredSophia with perfect truth, 'I have been longing to see her for weeks. '

§ 3

So it came about that the three sisters once more sat in a hiredcarriage and drove to Sales Hall. On the box was the son of the manwho had driven them years ago, and though the carriage was a new oneand the old horse had long been metamorphosed into food for the wildanimals in the Radstowe Zoo, this expedition was in many ways arepetition of the other. Caroline and Sophia faced the horses and Rosesat opposite her stepsisters, but now she did not listen to their talkwith ears stretched, not to miss a word, and she did not think hercompanions as beautiful as princesses. It was she who might have beena princess for another child, but she did not think of that. Shelooked with amusement and with misplaced pity at the other two. It wasa September afternoon and they were very gaily dressed, and againCaroline had a feather drooping over her hair, while Sophia, moregirlish, wore a wide hat with a blue bow, and both their parasols weretilted as before against the sun. It seemed to Rose that even the cutof their garments had not changed with time. The two had always theappearance of fashion plates of twenty years ago, but no doubt oftheir correctness ever entered their minds; and so they managed topreserve their elegance, as though their belief in themselves werestrong enough to impose it on those who saw them. Without this faith, the severity of Rose's black dress, filmy enough for the season butdaringly plain, must have rebuked them. The pearls in her ears and onher neck were her only ornaments; her little hat, wreathed with acream feather, shaded her brow. She sat with the repose which was oneof her gifts. 

'I'm sure we all look very nice, ' Caroline said suddenly, the veryremark she had made when they went to the haymaking party, 'though youdo look rather like a widow, Rose--a widow, getting over it verycomfortably, as they do--as they do!'

'I'm glad I look so interesting, ' Rose murmured. 

'Oh, interesting, always. Yes. '

They were jogging along the road bordered by the high smooth wall, despairingly efficient, guarding treasures bought with gold; and thetall elm-trees looked over it as though they wanted to escape. Themurmuring in their branches seemed to be of discontent, and the birdssinging in them had a taunting note. The road mounted a little and thewall went with it, backed by the imprisoned trees. But at last, at thecross-roads, the wall turned and the road went on without it. Therewere open fields now on either hand, the property of Francis Sales, and another mile brought the carriage to the opening of the grassytrack where Rose liked to think she had left her youth, but the roadwent round on the other side of the larch woods, and when these werepassed Sales Hall came into sight. 

'I always think, ' Caroline said, 'it's a pity this beautiful avenuehasn't a better setting. Mere fields, and open to the road! It'sundignified. It ought to have been a park. '

'With a high wall all round it, ' Rose suggested. 

'Exactly, ' Caroline agreed. She was touching her fringe, giving littlepats and pulls to her dress, preparatory to descent, and Sophiawhispered, 'Just see, Caroline, that wisp of hair near my ear--sotiresome! I can never be sure of it. '

'Not a sign of it, ' Caroline assured her. 'Now I wonder what we aregoing to find. '

They found the drawing-room empty and untouched. On the pale walls thewater-colours were still hanging, the floral carpet still covered thefloor, the faded chintzes had not been removed, and the light cameclearly through the long windows with their pale primrose curtains. Inthe middle of the room was the circular settee to seat four persons, back to back, with a little woolwork stool set for each pair of feet. There were no flowers in the room, and they were not needed, for theroom itself was like some pale, scentless and old-fashioned bloom. 

The three Miss Malletts sat down: Caroline gay and aggressive as aparrot, and a parrot in a big gilded cage would not have been out ofplace; Sophia fitting naturally into the gentle scheme of things; Rosestartlingly modern in her elegance. 

'Well, ' Caroline said, 'she's a long time. Changing her dress, Iexpect, ' and she sniffed. But Mrs. Francis Sales entered in a pinkcotton garment, her fair, curling hair a little untidy, for she had, she said, been in the old walled garden behind the house. There was, in fact, a rose hanging from her left hand. She was pretty, she seemedartless and defenceless, but her big blue eyes had a wary look, and inspite of that look spoiling an otherwise ingenuous countenance, Roseimagined herself noticeably old and mature. She thought it was nowonder that Francis was attracted, but at the same time she despisedhim for a failure in taste, as though, faced with the choice between aHeppelwhite chair and an affair of wicker and cretonne, he had chosenthe inferior article, though she had to admit that, for a permanentseat, it might be more comfortable and certainly more yielding. 

But as she watched Mrs. Sales presiding over the teacups, her scaredeyes moving swiftly from the parlourmaid, entering with cakes, toCaroline, and from Caroline to Sophia, and then with added shyness tothe woman nearest her own age, Rose found her opinion changing. Mrs. Francis Sales was timid, but she was not weak; the fair fluffiness ofher exterior was deceptive; and while Rose made this discovery and nowand then dropped a quiet word into the chatter of the others, she waslistening for Francis. He had been with his wife in the garden, but hewas some time in following her, and Rose knew that Mrs. Sales waslistening, too. She wondered whose ear first caught the sound of hisfeet on the matted passage; she felt an absurd inward tremor and, looking at Mrs. Sales, she saw that her pretty pink colour haddeepened and her blue eyes were bright, like flowers. She wascertainly charming in her simple frock, but her unsuitable shoes withvery high heels and sparkling buckles hurt Rose's eye as much as thevoice, also high and slightly grating, hurt her ear, and this voicesharpened nervously as it said, 'Oh, here is Francis coming. '

No, he was not the person of Rose's dreams, and she felt an immenserelief: she had expected to be disappointed, but she was glad to findthe old Francis, big, bronzed and handsome, smelling of the open airand tobacco and tweed, and no dangerous, disturbing, heroic figure. 

For an instant he looked at Rose before he greeted the elder ladies, and then, as Rose let her hand touch his and pleasantly said, 'How areyou?' she experienced a faint, almost physical shock. He was differentafter all, and now she did not know whether to be glad or sorry. Unchanged, she need not have given him another thought; subtlyaltered, she was bound to probe into the how and why. He sat besideher on the old-fashioned couch with a curled head, and his thirteenstone descending heavily on the springs sent up her light weight witha perceptible jerk. 

'Clumsy boy!' Mrs. Sales exclaimed playfully. 

Rose laughed. 'It's like the old see-saw. I was always in the air andyou on the ground. Is it there still--near the pigsties?'

'Yes, still there. ' But this threatened to become too exclusive aconversation, and Rose tried to do her share in more general topics. 

Caroline, talking of the advantage of Radstowe, regretting the greatergaiety of the past, when Sophia and she were belles, was addinggratuitous advice on the management of husbands and some informationon the ways of men. Mrs. Sales laughed and glanced now and then atFrancis, but whether he responded Rose could not see, unless sheturned her head. He ought certainly to have been smiling at so prettya person, wrinkling his eyes in the way he had and straightening themouth which was sullen in repose. Yet she was almost sure he was doingthe minimum demanded of politeness, almost sure he was thinking ofherself and was conscious of her nearness, just as she, for the firsttime, was physically conscious of his. 

She rose, saying, 'May I look out of the window? I always liked thisview of the garden. ' And having gazed out and made the necessaryremarks, she sat down, separated from him by the width of the room andwith her back to the light, a strategical position she ought to havetaken up before. But here she was at the disadvantage of facing himand a scrutiny of which she had not thought him capable. With his legsstretched out, his hands in his pockets, his eyes apparently half shutbut unquestionably fixed on her, he was really behaving rather badly. She had never been stared at like this before and she told herselfthat under the shelter of his marriage he had grown daring, if notinsolent; but at the same time she knew she was not telling herselfthe truth: he was simply in the position of a thirsty man who has atlast found a stream. It appeared, then, that his wife did notsufficiently quench his thirst. 

Rose carefully did not look his way, but she experienced an altogethernew excitement, the very ancient one of desiring to taste forbiddenfruit simply because it was forbidden; this particular fruit, as such, had no special charm; but she was born a Mallett and the half-sisterof Reginald. She had, however, as he had not, a substantial basis ofpersonal pride and a love of beauty which was at least as effectual asa moral principle and she had not Francis's excuse for his behaviour. She believed he did not know what he was doing; but she was entirelyclear-sighted as to herself and she refused to encourage the silentintercourse which had established itself between them. 

Caroline was in the midst of a piece of gossip, Sophia wasinterjecting exclamations of moderation and reproach, and Mrs. Saleswas manifestly amused. Her chromatic giggle was as punctual asSophia's reproof, and Rose drew closer to the group made by the three, and said, 'I'm missing Caroline's story. Which one is it?' And now itwas Francis who laughed. 

'It's finished, ' Caroline said. 'Don't tell your husband, at leasttill we have gone--and we ought to go at once. '

But the coachman was not on the box. He had been invited to take teain the kitchen. 

'We won't disturb him, ' Sophia said. 'No, Caroline, let him have histea. We ought to encourage teetotal drinking in his class. PerhapsMrs. Sales will let us go round the garden. I am so fond of flowers. '

'Come and look at the pigsties, ' Francis said to Rose, but, assuringhim she had grown too old for pigs, she followed the rest. 

The walled garden had a beautiful disorder. A grey kitten and a whitepuppy sat together on the grass, enjoying the sunshine and eachother's company and pretending to be asleep; and though the kittendisplayed no interest in the visitors, holding its personality of moreimportance than anything else, the puppy jumped up, barked, and rushedat each person in turn. Caroline, picking up her skirts and showingthe famous Mallett ankle, said, 'Go away, dog!' in a severe tone, andthe puppy rolled on the grass to show that he did not care and couldnot by any possibility be snubbed. Under an apple-tree on which thefruit was ripening were two cane chairs, a table, a newspaper and awork-basket. 

'This is my favourite place, ' Mrs. Sales said to Rose. 'I hate thatdrawing-room, and Francis won't have it touched. But I've got aboudoir that's lovely. He sent an order to the best shop and had itready for a surprise, so if I'm not out of doors I sit there. Wouldyou like to see it?'

'I should, very much, ' Rose said. 

'Then come quickly while the others are eating those plums off thewall. '

Rose looked back. 'I can't think what Sophia will do with the stone, 'she murmured, smiling her faint smile. 

Mrs. Sales was puzzled by this remark. 'Oh, she'll manage, won't she?You don't want to help her, do you?'

'No, I don't want to help her. '

'Come along, then. '

Rose saw the boudoir, a little room half-way up the stairs. 'It'sLouis something, ' said Mrs. Sales, 'but all the same, I think it'ssweet, and pink's my favourite colour. Francis thought of that. I waswearing pink when I first met him. '

'I see, ' Rose said. 'Was that long ago?'

'Only three months. I think we both fell in love at the same minute, and that's nice, isn't it? I know I'm going to be happy, but I do hopeI shan't be dull. We're a big family at home. I'm English, ' she addeda little anxiously, 'but my father settled there. '

'I don't think you should be dull, ' Rose said. 'Everybody in Radstowewill call on you, and there are lots of parties. And then there'shunting. '

'Yes, ' said Mrs. Sales. Her eyes left Rose's face, to return a littlewider, a little warier. 'Do you hunt too?'

'As often as I can. I only have one horse. '

'Francis says I am to have two. '

'And they will be good ones. He likes hunting and horses better thananything else, I suppose. '

'But he mustn't neglect the farm, ' his wife said firmly, and she addedslowly, 'I don't know that I need two horses, really. I haven't riddenmuch, and there's a lot to do in the house. I don't believe in peoplebeing out all day. '

'Well, you can't hunt all the year round, you know. '

Mrs. Sales let out a sigh so faint that most people would have missedit. 'It will be beginning soon, won't it?'

'It feels a long way off in weather like this, ' Rose said. 'But theyare getting into the carriage. I must go. '

Mrs. Sales lingered for an instant. 'I do hope we're going to befriends. ' This was more than a statement, it was a request, and Roseshrank from it; but she said lightly, 'We shall be meeting often. Youwill see more of us than you will care for, I'm afraid. The Mallettsare rather ubiquitous in Radstowe. It's fortunate for us, or Carolinewould die of boredom, but I don't know how it appears to otherpeople. '

She was going down the shallow stairs and the voice of Mrs. Salesfollowed her sadly: 'He hasn't told me anything about any of hisfriends. '

'In three months? He hasn't had time, with you to think about!' Alaugh, pleased and self-conscious, reached her ears. 'No, but it'srather lonely in this old house. We're a big family at home--and solively. There was always something going on. I wished we lived nearerRadstowe. '

'And I envy you here. It's peaceful. '

'Yes, it's that, ' Mrs. Sales agreed. 

'I'm a good deal older than you, you see, ' Rose elaborated. 

'That's just it, ' said Mrs. Sales. 

Rose laughed, and Francis, standing at the door, turned at the soundin time to catch the end of Rose's smile. 

'What are you laughing at?'

'Mrs. Sales's candour. '

'Oh, was I rude?'

'No. Good-bye. I liked it. ' Yet, as she settled herself in her place, she was not more than half pleased. She liked her superior age onlybecause it marked a difference between her and the wife of FrancisSales. 

'H'm!' Caroline said when the carriage had turned into the road andthe figures in the doorway had disappeared. 'Pretty, but unformed. '

'They seem very happy, ' Sophia said, 'but I do think she ought to havebeen wearing black. Her father-in-law has only been dead six months, and even Francis was not wearing a black tie. '

But if Caroline condemned men in general, she supported them inparticular. 'Quite right, too. Men don't think of these things--and ablack tie with those tweeds! Sophia, don't be silly and sentimental;but you always were, you always will be. '

'She might have had a white frock with a black ribbon, ' Sophiapersisted. 'Why, Rose looked more like our old friend's daughter-in-law. '

'But hardly like a bride, ' Rose said. 'And you see, pink is hercolour. '

'So it is, dear. One could see that. Pink and blue, just as they weremine. ' She corrected herself. '_Are_ mine. Our complexions are verymuch alike; in fact, she reminded me a little of myself. '

'Nonsense, Sophia! If you had been like that I should have disownedyou. However, she will do well enough for Sales Hall. '

Rose bent forward slightly. 'I like her, ' she said distinctly. 'Andshe's lonely. '

'Well, my dear, she'll soon have half a dozen children to keep herlively. '

'Hush, Caroline! The man will hear you. '

Caroline addressed Rose. 'Sophia's modesty is indecent. I've done whatI could for her. '

'Please listen to me, ' Rose said. 'You are not to belittle Mrs. Salesto people, Caroline. You can be a powerful friend, if you choose, andif you sing her praises there will be a mighty chorus. '

'That's true, ' Caroline said. 

'Yes, that's true, dear Caroline, ' Sophia echoed. 'And I think you'retaking this very sweetly, Rose. '

'Sweetly? Why?'

Caroline pricked up her ears. 'What's this? I'm out of this. Oh, thatold rubbish! She will have it you and Francis should have married. Mydear Sophia, Rose could have married anybody if she'd wanted to. You'll admit that? Yes? Then can't you see'--she tapped Sophia'sknee--'then can't you see that Rose didn't want him? That's logic--andsomething you lack. '

'Yes, dear, ' Sophia said with the meekness of the unconvinced. 'And ofcourse it's wrong to think of it now that he's married to another. '

Caroline guffawed her loudest, and the astonished horse quickened hispace. The driver cast a look over his shoulder to see that all waswell, for he had a sister who made strange noises in her fits; andSophia, sitting in her drooping fashion, as though her head with itsgreat knob of fair hair, in which the silver was just beginning toshow, were too heavy for her body, had to listen to the old gibeswhich had never made and never would make any impression on her, though she would have felt forlorn without them. She was the onlypuritanical Mallett in history, Caroline said. Oh, yes, the Generalhad been great at family prayers, but he was trying to make up forlost time. It was difficult to believe that Sophia and Reginald werethe same flesh and blood. 

Sophia interrupted. She was fond of Reginald, but she had no desire tobe like him, and Caroline knew he was a disgrace. They argued for sometime, and Rose closed her eyes until the talk, never reallyacrimonious, drifted into reminiscences of their childhood andReginald's. 

It was strange that they should have chosen that day to speak so muchof him, for when they reached home they found a letter addressed in anunfamiliar hand. 

'What's this?' Caroline said. 

It was a thin, cheap envelope bearing a London postmark, and Carolinedrew out a flimsy sheet of paper. 

'I must get my glasses, ' she said. Her voice was agitated. 'No, no, Ican manage without them. The writing is immense, but faint. It's fromthat woman. ' She looked up, showing a face drawn and blotched withugly colour. 'It's to say that Reginald is dead. '

Mrs. Reginald Mallett had written the letter on the day of herhusband's funeral, and Caroline's tears for her brother were stemmedby her indignation with his wife. She had purposely made it impossiblefor his relatives to attend the ceremony. 

'No, ' Sophia said, 'the poor thing was distressed. We mustn't blameher. '

'And such a letter!' Caroline flicked it with a disdainful finger. 

Rose picked up the sheet. 'I don't see what else she could have said. I think it's dignified--a plain statement. Why should you expect more?You have never taken any notice of her. '

'Certainly not! And Reginald never suggested it. Of course he wasashamed, poor boy. However, I am now going to write to her, asking ifshe is in need, and enclosing a cheque. I feel some responsibility forthe child. She is half a Mallett, and the Malletts have always beenloyal to the family. '

'Yes, dear, we'll send a cheque, and--shouldn't we?--a few kind words. She will value them. '

'She'll value the money more, ' Caroline said grimly. 

Here she was wrong, for the cheque was immediately returned. Mrs. Mallett and her daughter were able to support themselves without help. 

'Then we need think no more about them, ' Caroline said, concealing herannoyance, 'and I shall be able to afford a new dinner dress. Blacksequins, I thought, Sophia--and we must give a dinner for the Sales. '

'Caroline, no, you forget. We mustn't entertain for a little while. '

'Upon my word, I did forget. But it's no use pretending. It reallyisn't quite like a death in the family, is it? Poor dear Reginald! Iwas very fond of him, but half our friends believe he has been deadfor years. I shall wear black for three months, of course, but alittle dinner to the Sales would not be out of place. We have a dutyto the living as well as to the dead. '

Leaving her stepsisters to argue this point, Rose went upstairs andlooked into Reginald's old room. She had known very little of him, butshe was sorry he was dead, sorry there was no longer a chance of hispresence in the house, of meeting him on the stairs, very late forbreakfast and quite oblivious of the inconvenience he was causing, andon his lips some remark which no one else would have made. 

His room had not been occupied for some time, but it seemed emptierthan before; the mirror gave back a reflection of polished furnitureand vacancy; the bed looked smooth and cold enough for a corpse. Nopersonal possessions were strewn about, and the room itself feltchilly. 

She was glad to enter her own, where beauty and luxury lived together. The carpet was soft to her feet, a small wood fire burned in thegrate, for the evening promised to be cold, and the severe lines ofthe furniture were clean and exquisite against the white walls. A palesoft dressing-gown hung across a chair, a little handkerchief, as fineas lace, lay crumpled on a table, there was a discreet gleam of silverand tortoiseshell. This, at least, was the room of a living person. Yet, as she stood before the cheval-glass, studying herself after thehabit of the Malletts, she thought perhaps she was less truly livingthan Reginald in his grave. He left a memory of animation, of sin, ofcharm; he had injured other people all his life, but they regrettedhim and, presumably, he had had his pleasure out of their pain. Andwhat was she, standing there? A negatively virtuous young woman, without enough desire of any kind to impel her to trample overfeelings, creeds and codes. If she died that moment, it would be saidof her that she was beautiful, and that was all. Reginald, with hisgreed, his heartlessness, his indifference to all that did not servehim, would not be forgotten: people would sigh and smile at themention of his name, hate him and wish him back. She envied him; shewished she could feel in swift, passionate gusts as he had done, withthe force and the forgetfulness of a passing wind. His life, fleckedwith disgrace, must also have been rich with temporary but memorablebeauty. The exterior of her own was all beauty, of person andsurroundings, but within there seemed to be only a cold waste. 

She had been tempted the other afternoon, and she had resisted withwhat seemed to her a despicable ease: she had not really cared, andshe felt that the necessity to struggle, even the collapse of herresistance, would have argued better for her than her self-possession. And for a moment she wished she had married Francis Sales. She wouldat least have had some definite work in the world; she could have kepthim to his farming, as Mrs. Sales had set herself to do; she wouldhave had a home to see to and daily interviews with the cook! Shelaughed at this decline in her ambition; she no longer expected theadvent of the colossal figure of her young dreams; and she knew thiswas the hour when she ought to strike out a new way for herself, toleave this place which offered her nothing but ease and a continuous, foredoomed effort after enjoyment; but she also knew that she wouldnot go. She had not the energy nor the desire. She would drift on, never submerged by any passion, keeping her head calmly above water, looking coldly at the interminable sea. This was her conviction, butshe was not without a secret hope that she might at last be carried tosome unknown island, odorous, surprising and her own, where she would, for the first time, experience some kind of excess. 

§ 4

The little dinner was duly given to the Sales. The Sales returned thecompliment; and Mrs. Batty, not to be outdone, offered what could onlyadequately be described as a banquet in honour of the bride; there wasa general revival of hospitality, and the Malletts were at everyfunction. This was Caroline's reward for her instructed enthusiasm forChristabel Sales, and before long the black sequin dress gave way to agrey brocade and a purple satin, and the period of mourning was at anend. For Rose, these entertainments were only interesting because theSales were there, and she hardly knew at what moment annoyance beganto mingle definitely with her pity for the little lady with the waryeyes, or when the annoyance almost overcame the pity. 

It might have been at a dinner-party when Christabel, seated at theright hand of a particularly facetious host, let out her highchromatic laughter incessantly, and the hostess, leaning towardsFrancis, told him with the tenderness of an elderly woman whose ownromance lies far behind her, that it was a pleasure to see Mrs. Salesso happy. He murmured something in response and, as he looked up andmet the gaze of Rose, she smiled at him and saw his eyes darken withfeeling, or with thought. 

After dinner he sought her out. She had known that would happen:she had been avoiding it for weeks, but it was useless to play athide-and-seek with the inevitable, and she calmly watched himapproach. 

'Why did you laugh?' he asked at once, in his old, angry fashion. 'Youwere laughing at me. '

'No, I smiled. '

'Ah, you're not so free with your smiles that they have no meaning. '

'Perhaps not, but I don't know what the meaning was. '

'I believe you've been laughing at me ever since I came back. '

'Indeed, I haven't. Why should I?'

'God knows, ' he answered with a shrug; 'I never do understand whatpeople laugh at. '

'You're too self-conscious, Francis. '

'Only with you, ' he said. 

'Somebody is going to sing, ' she warned him as a gaunt girl wenttowards the piano; and sinking on to a convenient and sheltered couch, they resigned themselves to listen--or to endure. From that cornerRose had a view of the long room, mediocre in its decoration, mediocrein its occupants. She could see her host standing before the fire, swinging his eyeglasses on a cord and gazing at the cornice as thesong proceeded. She could see Christabel's neck and shoulders and theback of her fair head. Beside her a plump matron had her face suitablycomposed; three bored young men were leaning against a wall. 

The music jangled, the voice shrieked a false emotion, and Rose'seyebrows rose with the voice. It was dull, it was dreary, it was awaste of time, yet what else, Rose questioned, could she do with time, of which there was so much? She could not find an answer, and thererose at that moment a chorus of thanks and a gentle clapping of hands. The gaunt girl had finished her song and, poking her chin, returned toher seat. The room buzzed with chatter; it seemed that only Francisand Rose were silent. She turned to look at him. 

'This is awful, ' he said. 

'No worse than usual. '

'When do you think we shall have exhausted Radstowe hospitality? Andthe worst of it is we have to give dinners ourselves, and the samethings happen every time. '

'I find it soporific, ' said Rose. 

'I'd rather be soporific in an arm-chair with a pipe. '

'This is one of the penalties of marriage, ' Rose said lightly. 

'Look here, I'm giving Christabel another jumping lesson to-morrow. I've put some hurdles up. Will you come? She's getting on very well. I'll take her hunting before long. '

'Does she like it?'

'Oh, rather! My word, it would have been a catastrophe if she hadn'ttaken to it. ' He paused, considering the terrible situation from whichhe had been saved. 'Can't imagine what I should have done. But she'snever satisfied. She's beginning to jeer at the old brown horse. I'veseen a grey mare that might do for her, ' and he went on to enumeratethe animal's points. 

Rose said, 'Why don't you let her have her first season with the oldhorse? He knows his business. He'll take care of her. '

'She wouldn't approve of that. I tell you, she's ambitious. I'll goand fetch her and you'll hear for yourself. '

She watched him bending over his wife, and saw Christabel rise andslip a hand under his arm. The action was a little like that of ayoung woman taking a walk with her young man, but it betokened aconfidence which roused a slight feeling of envy and sadness in Rose'sheart. 

'We have been talking about hunting, ' she began at once. 

'Oh, yes, ' Christabel said. She looked warily from one to the other. 

'I'm recommending you to stick to the old brown horse, but Francissays you laugh at him. '

'Would you ride him yourself?' Christabel asked. 

'Not if I could get something better. '

'Well, then--' Christabel's tone was final. 

But Rose persisted, saying, 'But, you see, this isn't my first season. Stick to the old horse for a little while. '

'No, ' Christabel said firmly. 'If Francis thinks I can ride the mare, I should like to have her. '

Rose laughed, but she felt uneasy, and Francis said, 'I told you so. She has any amount of pluck. You come and watch. '

'No, I can't come to-morrow. I think I'll see her first in all herglory on the grey mare. '

'All the same, ' Christabel added, 'if she's very expensive, I don'twant her. Francis is extravagant over horses, and we have to becareful. '

'We'll economize somewhere else, ' he said. 'The mare is yours. '

She suppressed a sigh. Rose was sure of it, and in after days she wasto ask herself many times if she had been to blame in not interpretingthat sigh to Francis. But she had to give Christabel, and Christabelespecially, the loyalty of one woman to another. She would not wrenchfrom her in a few words the pride Francis took in her, to which shesacrificed her fears. Rose had the astuteness of a jealousy she wouldnot own, of a sense of possession she could not discard, and she hadknown, from the first moment, that Christabel was afraid of horses anddreaded the very name of hunting. And Rose divined, too, that if sheherself had not been a horsewoman of some repute, Christabel wouldhave been less ambitious; she would have been contented with the oldbrown horse; but Christabel, too, had an astuteness. No, she could nothave interfered; yet when she first saw Christabel on the mare she wasalarmed to the point of saying:

'Are you sure she's all right? You'd better keep beside her, Francis. '

The mare was fidgety and hot-headed. Christabel's hands were unsteady, her face was pale, her lips were tight; but she was gay, and Franciswas proud to have her and her mount admired. 

Rose looked round in despair. Could no one else see what was so plainto her? She was tempted to go home. She felt she could not bear thestrain of watching that little figure perched on the grey beast thatlooked like a wraith, like a warning. But she did not go, and shelearnt to be glad to have shared with Francis the horror of the momentwhen the mare, out of control and mad with excitement, tried a fencetopping a bank, failed, and fell with Christabel beneath her. 

On the ground there was a flurry of white and black, and thenstillness, while over the fields the hounds and the foremost riderswent like things seen in a dream, with the same callousness, the samespeed. 

Rose saw men dismount and run towards the queer, ugly muddle on thegrass. She dismounted, too, and gave her horse to somebody to hold, but she did nothing. Other, more capable people were before her, andit struck her at that moment, while a bird in a bare hedge set up ashort chirrup of surprise, how little used she was to action. Sheseemed to be standing alone in the big field: the rest was a picturewith which she had nothing to do. There was a busy group near thefence, some men came running with a door, and then the sound of a shotbroke through her numbness. The mare had been put out of her pain; butwhat of Christabel?

She hurried forward; she heard some one say, 'Ah, here's MissMallett, ' and she answered vaguely, 'Men are gentler. ' But as theylifted Christabel, Rose held one of her hands. It felt lifeless; shelooked small and broken; she made no sound. 

'She's not conscious, ' a man said, and at that she opened her eyes. 

'My God, she's got some pluck!' Francis said. 'My God--'

She smiled at him, and he dropped behind with a gesture of despair. 

'You were right, ' he said to Rose, 'she wasn't equal to that brute. 'He turned angrily. 'Why didn't you make me see?'

She made no answer then, or afterwards, to him, but over and overagain, with the awful reiteration of the conscience-smitten, she setout her reasons for her silence. She might have told him that of thesehe was the chief. If he had looked at her less persistently on hervisits to Sales Hall, if he had married another kind of woman, shewould not have been afraid to speak, but she had tried not toextinguish what little flame of love still flickered in his heart forChristabel and she had succeeded in almost extinguishing her life, inreducing her to permanent helplessness. 

This was Rose's first experience of how evil comes out of good. Whatwould happen to that love, Rose did not know. For a time it burnedmore brightly, fanned by Christabel's heroism and Francis's remorse, but heroism can become monotonous to the spectator and poignantremorse cannot be endured for ever. Christabel's plight was pitiful, but Rose was sorrier for Francis. He had, as it were, engaged hercompassion years ago, he had a prior claim, and as time went on, herpity for Christabel changed at moments to annoyance. It was cruel, butRose had no fund of patience. She disliked illness as she diddeformity, and though Christabel never complained of her constantpain, she developed the exactions of an invalid, and the suspicions. In those blue eyes, bluer, and more than ever wary, Rose saw thequestions which were never asked. 

In the bedroom which, with the boudoir, had been furnished anddecorated by the best shop in Radstowe, for a surprise, Christabel layon a couch near the window, with a nurse in attendance, the puppy andthe kitten, both growing staid, for company. It tired her to use herhands, she had never cared for reading and she lay there with littlefor consolation but her pride in stoically bearing pain. 

Often, and with many interruptions, she made Rose repeat the detailsof the accident. 

'I was riding well, wasn't I?' she would ask. 'Francis was pleasedwith me. He said so. It wasn't my fault, was it? And then, when theywere carrying me home did you hear what he said? Tell me what hesaid. '

And Rose told her: 'He said, "My God, she has got pluck!" Oh, Christabel, don't talk about it. '

'I like to, ' she replied, but the day came when she insisted on thissubject for the last time. 

'Tell me what you thought when you saw me on the mare, ' she said, andRose, careless for once, answered immediately, 'I thought she wasn'tfit for you to ride. '

'Ah, ' Christabel said slowly, 'did you? Did you? But you didn't sayanything. That was--queer. '

Rose said nothing. She was frozen dumb and there was no possible replyto such an implication; but she rose and drew on her gloves. Shelooked tall and straight in her habit, and formidable. 

'Are you going? But you must have tea with Francis. He's expectingyou. '

'I won't stay to-day, ' Rose said. She was shaking with the anger shesuppressed. 

'But if you don't, ' Christabel cried, 'he'll want to know why. He'llask me!'

'I can't help that, ' Rose said. 

Tears came into Christabel's eyes. 'You might at least do that forme. '

'Very well. Because you ask me. '

'And you'll come again soon?'

The sternness of Rose's face was broken by an ironic smile. 'Ofcourse! If you are sure you want me!'

She went downstairs and, as usual, Francis was waiting for her in thematted hall. He did not greet her with a word or a smile. He watchedher descend the shallow flight, and together they went down thepassage to the clear drawing-room, where the faded water-colourslooked unreal and innocent and ignorant of tragedy. 

'What's the matter?' he asked. 

'Nothing. ' She looked into the oval mirror which had so oftenreflected his mother's placid face. 'My hat's a little crooked, ' shesaid. 

He laughed without mirth. 'Never in its life. Has Christabel beenworrying you?'

'Worrying me? Poor child--'

'Yes, it's damnable, but she does worry one--and you look odd. '

'I'm getting old, ' she murmured, not seeking reassurance but stating afact plain to her. 

'You're exactly the same!' he said. 'Exactly the same!' He swept hisface with his hands, and at that sight a new sensation seized herdelicately, delightfully, as though a firm hand held her for aninstant above the earth, high in the air, free from care, fromrestrictions, from the necessity for thought--but only for an instant. She was set down again, inwardly swaying, apparently unmoved, butconscious of the carpet under her feet, the chairs with twisted legs, the primrose curtains, the spring afternoon outside. 

'Let us have tea, ' she said. She handled the pretty flowered cups andunder her astonished eyes the painted flowers were like a littlegarden, gay and sweet and gilded. She seemed to smell them and thehiss of the kettle was like a song. Then, as she handed him his cupand looked into his wretched face and remembered the bitter reality ofthings, she still could not lose all sense of sweetness. 

'Don't say any more!' she said quickly. 'Don't say another word. '

'I won't, if you're sure you know everything. Do you?'

'Every single thing. '

'And you care?'

'Yes. ' She drew a breath. 'I care--beyond speaking of it. Francis, nota word!'

It was extraordinary, it was inexplicable, but it was true and happilybeyond the region of regrets, for if she had married him years ago shewould never have loved him in this miraculous, sudden way, with thispassion of tenderness, this desire to make him happy, this terribleconviction that she could not do it, this promise of suffering forherself. And the wonder of it was that he had no likeness to thatabsurd Francis of whom she had dreamed and whom she had not loved; nolikeness, either, to the colossal tyrant. The man she loved was insome ways weak, he was petulant, he was a baby, but he needed her and, for a romantic and sentimental moment, she saw herself as his refuge, his strength. She could not, must not communicate those thoughts. Shebegan to talk happily and serenely about ordinary things until sheremembered that she had lingered past her usual hour and that upstairsChristabel must be listening for the sound of her horse's hoofs. Shestarted up. 

'Will you fetch Peter for me?'

'If you will tell me when you are coming again. '

'One day next week. '

He kissed her hand, and held it. 

'Francis, don't. You mustn't spoil things. '

'I haven't said a word. '

'Silence is good, ' she said. 

§ 5

And she knew she could be silent for ever. Restraint and a love ofdanger lived together in her nature and these two qualities were fedby the position in which she found herself, nor would she have had theposition changed. It supplied her with the emotion she had wanted. Shehad the privilege of feeling deeply and dangerously and yet ofpreserving her pride. 

There was irony in the fact that Christabel, hinting at suspicions forwhich, in Rose's mind, there was at first no cause, had at lastactually brought about what she feared, and if Rose had looked forjustification, she might have found it there. But she did not look forit any more than Reginald would have done; she was like him there, butwhere she differed was in loyalty to an idea. She saw love assomething noble and inspiring, worthy of sacrifice and, moreconcretely, she was determined not to increase the disaster which hadbefallen Christabel. Sooner or later, in normal conditions, hermarriage must have been recognized as a failure, but in these abnormalones it had to be sustained as a success, and it seemed to Rose thatcivilized beings could love, and live in the knowledge of their love, without injuring some one already cruelly unfortunate. 

But, as the months went by, she found she had to reckon with twodifficult people, or rather with two people, ordinary in themselves, cast by fate into a difficult situation. There was Christabel, withher countless idle hours in which to formulate theories, to lay traps, to realize that the devotion of Francis became less obvious; and therewas Francis, breaking the spirit of their contract with his looks, andsometimes the letter, with his complaints and pleadings. 

He could not go on like this for ever, he said. He saw her once a weekfor a few minutes, if he was lucky: how could she expect him to besatisfied with that? It was little enough, she owned, but more than itmight have been. She could never make him admit, perhaps because hedid not feel, how greatly they were blessed; but she saw herself asthe guardian of a temple: she stood in the doorway forbidding him toenter less the place should be defiled, yet forbidding him in such away that he should not love her less. Yet constantly saying 'No, 'constantly shaking the head and smiling propitiatingly the while isnot to appease; and those short hours of companionship in which theyhad once managed to be happy became times of strain, ofdisappointment, of barely kept control. 

'I wish I could stop loving you, ' he broke out one day, 'but I can't. You're the kind one doesn't forget. I thought I'd done it once, for afew months, but you came back--you, came back. '

She smiled, seeming aloof and full of some wisdom unknown to him. Sheknew he could not do without her, still more she knew he must not dowithout her, and these certainties became the main fabric of her love. She had to keep him, less for her own sake than for that of her idea, but gradually the severe rules she had made became relaxed. 

They were not to meet except on that one day a week demanded byChristabel, who also had to keep Francis happy and who would havewelcomed the powers of darkness to relieve the monotony of her ownlife; but Rose could hardly take a ride without meeting Francis, alsoriding; or he would appear, on foot, out of a wood, out of a sideroad, and waylay her. He seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of herpresence, and they would have a few minutes of conversation, or of asilence which was no longer beautiful, but terrible with effort, withpossibilities and with dread. 

She ought, she knew, to have kept to her own side of the bridge, tohave ridden on the high Downs inviting to a rider, but she loved thefarther country where the air was blue and soft, where little orchardsbroke oddly into great fields, where brooks ran across the lanes andpink-washed cottages were fronted by little gardens full of homelyflowers and clothes drying on the bushes. There was a smell of fruitand wood fires and damp earth; there was a veil of magic over thewhole landscape and, far off, the shining line of the channel seemedto be washing the feet of the blue hills. The country had the charm ofhome with the allurement of the unknown and, within sound of thesteamers hooting in the river, almost within sight of the city lying, red-roofed and smoky with factories, round the docks and mounting interraces to the heights of Upper Radstowe, there was an expectation ofmystery, of secrets kept for countless centuries by the earth whichwas rich and fecund and alive. She could not deny herself the sight ofthis country. It had become dearer to her since her awakened feelingshad brought with them the complexities of new thoughts. It soothed herthough it solved nothing. It did not wish to solve anything. It laybefore her with its fields, its woods, its patches of heathy land, itsbones of grey limestone showing where the flesh of the red earth hadfallen away, its dips and hollows, its steep lanes, like the wide eyeof a being too full of understanding to attempt elucidations; it wouldnot explain; it knew but it would not impart the knowledge which mustbe gained through the experience of years, of storms, of sunshine, ofcalamity and joy. 

And sometimes the presence of Francis with his personal claims and hiscomplaints was an intrusion, almost an anachronism. He was of his owntime, and the end of that was almost within sight, while the earth, immensely old, had a youth of its own, something which Francis wouldnever have again. But perhaps, because he was essentially simple, hewould have fitted in well enough if he had been less ready to voicehis grievances and ruffle the calm which she so carefully preserved, which he called coldness and for which he reproached her often. 

'I have no peace, ' he grumbled. 

'You would get it if you would accept things as they are. You have to, in the end, so why not now?'

She longed to give peace to him, but her tenderness was sane and shefound a strange pleasure in the pain of knowing him to be irritableand childish. It made of her love a better thing, without the hope ofany reward but the continuance of service. 

'It's easier for you, ' he said, and she answered, 'Is it?' in the waythat angered him and yet held him, and she thought, withoutbitterness, that he had never suffered anything without physical ormental tears. 'Yes, you have peace at home, but I go back to misery. '

'It's her misery. '

'That doesn't make it any better, ' he retorted justly. 

'I know. ' She touched his sleeve and, feeling his arm stiffen, removedher hand. 

'And I feel a brute because I can't care enough. If it were you now--'

Almost imperceptibly Rose shook her head. She had no illusions, butshe said, 'Then why not pretend it's me. Tell her all you do. Ask heradvice--you needn't take it. '

'And it's all a lie, ' he growled. 

She said serenely, 'It has to be, but there are good lies. '

She wished, with an intensity she rarely allowed herself, that hewould be quiet and controlled. Though half her occupation would begone, she would feel for him a respect which would rebound on her andmake her admirable to herself, but she knew that life cannot be toolavish of its gifts or death would always have the victory. This wasnot what she had looked for, but it was good enough; she was necessaryto him and always would be; she was sure of that, yet she constantlyrepeated it; moreover, she loved his bigness and his physical strengthand the way the lines round his eyes wrinkled when he smiled; she knewhow to make him smile and now and then they had happy interludes whenthey talked about crops and horses, profit and loss, the buying andselling of stock, and felt their friendship for each other like amantle shared. 

At the worst, she consoled herself, after a time of strain, it waslike riding a restive horse. There was danger which she loved: therewas need of skill and a light hand, of sympathy and tact, and shenever regretted the superman who was to have ruled her with afatiguing rod of iron. Here there was give and take; she had to lethim have his head and pull him up at the right moment and rewarddocility with kindness; she even found a kind of pleasure, streakedwith disgust, in dealing with Christabel's suspicions, half expressed, but present like shadowy people in her room. 

Of these she never spoke to Francis, but she had a malicious affectionfor them; they had, as it were, done her a good turn, and though theyhid like secret enemies in the corners, she recognized them as allies. And they looked so much worse than they were. She imagined themshowing very ugly faces to Christabel, who could only judge them bytheir looks, and though it was cruel that she should be frightened bythem, it was impossible to drive them away. Rose could only sit calmlyin their presence and try to create an atmosphere of safety. She knewshe ought to feel hypocritical in this attendance on her lover's wife, but it was not of her choosing. She did not like Christabel, she wouldhave been glad never to see her again and, terrible as her situationwas, it appealed to Rose less then it would have done if she had notherself come of people whose tradition was one of stoicism in trouble, of pride which refused to reveal its distress. Physically, Christabelhad those qualities, but mentally she lacked them; it was chiefly toRose that she betrayed herself, and at each farewell she exacted thepromise of another visit soon. Was she fascinated by the sight of thewoman Francis loved? And when had that love been discovered? And wasshe sure of it even now? She certainly had her sole excitement in hersearch for evidence. 

In that bedroom, gaily decorated for a bride, she lay heroicallybearing pain, lacking the devotion she should have had, finding herreward in the memory of her husband's appreciation of her courage, andher occupation, perhaps her pleasure, in a refinement of self-torture. 

As soon as Rose entered the room she was aware of the scrutiny ofthose wary eyes, very wide open, as blue as flowers, and she knew thather own face was like a mask. The little dog wagged his tail, the catmade no sign, the nurse, after a cheerful greeting, went out of theroom and Rose took her accustomed place beside the window. It had aview of the garden, the avenue of elms in which the rooks cawedcontinuously, the hedge separating the fields from the high-road wheretwo-wheeled carts, laden with farm produce, jogged into Radstowe, driven by an old man or a stout woman, and returned some hours laterwith the day's shopping--kitchen utensils inadequately wrapped up andglistening in the sunshine, a flimsy parcel of drapery, a box ofgroceries. The old man smoked his pipe, the stout woman shook thereins on the pony's back; the pony, regardless, went at his own pace. Heavy farm carts creaked past, motor-cars whizzed by, the Sales Halldairy cows were driven in for milking, and then for a whole half hourthere might be nothing on the road. The country slept in the sunshineor patiently endured the rain. 

For a member of a large and lively family this prospect, seen from apermanent couch, was not exhilarating, but Christabel did notcomplain: she took advantage of every incident and made the most ofit, but she never expressed a desire for more. She had, for so frailand shattered a body, an amazing capacity for endurance, as though shewere upheld by some spiritual force. It might have been religion orlove, or the desire to perpetuate Francis's admiration, but Rosebelieved, and hated herself for believing, that it was partlyantagonism and a feverish curiosity. She had been cheated of her youthand strength, and here, with a beautiful, impassive face, was thewoman who might have saved her, a woman with a body strongly slim inher dark habit, and firm white hands skilled in managing a horse. Shehad read the grey mare's mind, and now Christabel, delicately blue andpink and white, in a wrapper of silk and lace, her hands fidgetingeach other as they had fidgeted the mare's mouth, thought she wasreading the mind of Rose. She stared at her, fascinated but notafraid. There were things she must find out. 

She asked one day, and it was nearly two years since the accident, 'Did they kill the mare?' And Rose, aware that Christabel had knownall the time, answered, 'Yes, at once. Her leg was broken. '

'What a pity!'

Waiting for what would come next, Rose smiled and looked out of thewindow at the swaying elm tops. 

'Such a useful animal!' Christabel said. 

'Very dangerous, ' Rose remarked, slipping deliberately into the trap. 

'That's what I mean. But not quite dangerous enough. Poor Francis! Hedidn't know. He doesn't know now, does he? But of course not. '

Rose had a great horror of a debt and she owed something toChristabel, but now she felt she had paid it off, with interest. Shebreathed deeply, without a sound. Her tone was light. 

'He knows all that is good for him. '

'You mean that is good for you. '

Rose stood up, pulled on her washleather gloves, sat down again. Thehands on the silk coverlet were shaking. 

'You are making yourself ill, ' Rose said. She was tempted to takethose poor fluttering hands into her own and steady them, but herflesh shrank from the contact. She was tempted, too, to tellChristabel the truth, but pride forbade her, and in a moment theimpulse was gone, and with its departure came the belief that thetruth would be annihilating. It would rob her of her gloriousuncertainty, she would be destroyed by the knowledge that Rose hadseen her fear, seen and tried to strengthen the slender hold she hadon her husband's love. It was better to play the part of the wickedwoman, the murderess, the stealer of hearts: and perhaps she waswicked; she had not thought of that before; the Malletts did notcriticize their actions or analyse their minds and she had nointention of breaking their habits. She stood up again and said:

'Shall I call the nurse?'

'You're not going yet? You've only been here a few minutes. '

'Long enough, ' Rose said cheerfully. 

Tears came into Christabel's eyes. 'And Francis is out. If he doesn'tsee you he'll be angry, he'll ask me why. '

'You can tell him. '

'But, ' the tone changed, 'perhaps you'll see him on your way home. '

'Yes, and then I can tell him instead. '

The tears overflowed, she was helplessly angry, she sobbed. 

'Be quiet, ' Rose said sternly. 'I shall tell him nothing. You knowthat. You are quite safe, whatever you choose to say to me. Perfectlysafe. '

'I know. I can't help it. I lie here and think. What would you do inmy place?'

'The same thing, I suppose, ' Rose said. 

'And you won't go?'

'Yes, I'm going. You can tell Francis I was obliged to get homeearly. '

'But you'll come again?'

'Oh, yes, I'll come again. '

'You don't want to. '

'No, I don't want to. '

'But you're always riding over here, aren't you?'

'Nearly every day. '

'Oh, then--' The words lingered meaningly until Rose reached the doorand then Christabel said, 'I wish you'd ask your sisters to come andsee me. They would tell me all the news. '

Rose went downstairs laughing at Christabel's capacity for minglingtragedy with the commonplace and sordid accusations with socialdesires, but though she laughed she was strangely tired and, stretching before her, she saw more weariness, more struggling, moreeffort without result. 

She stood in the masculine, matted hall, with the usual worn pair ofslippers in the corner, a stick lying across a chair, a collection ofcoats and hats on the pegs, and she felt she would be glad if she werenever to see all this again, and for the first time she thoughtseriously of desertion. She wished she could go to some unfamiliarcountry where the people would all have new faces, where the languagewould be strange, the sights different, the smells unlike those whichwere wafted through the open door. She wanted a fresh body and a newworld, but she knew that she would not get them, for leaving Franciswould be like leaving a child. So she told herself, but at the back ofher mind was the certainty that if she went he would soon attachhimself to another's strength--or weakness: yes, to another'sweakness, and she found she could not contemplate that event, lessbecause she clung to him than because her pride could not tolerate asubstitution which would be an admission of her likeness to otherwomen. Yet in that very lack of toleration her pride was lowered, andif she was not clinging to him for her own sake, she was holding on toher place, her uniqueness, refusing the possibility that another womancould serve him, as she had served him with pain, with suffering. Shewas like a queen who does not love her throne supremely but will notabdicate, who would rather fail in her appointed place than seeanother succeed in it. 

For a minute Rose Mallett sat down on the edge of the chair alreadyoccupied by the stick and she pressed both hands against her forehead, driving back her thoughts. Thinking was dangerous and a folly: it wasa concession to circumstances, and she would concede nothing. Shestood up, looked round for a mirror, remembered there was not one inthe hall, and with little, meticulous touches to her hat, her hair andthe white stock round her neck, she left the house. 

She returned to a drawing-room occupied by Caroline and Sophia, yetstrangely silent. There was not a sound but what came from the birdsin the garden. Caroline's spectacles were on her nose and, though shewas not reading the letter on her knee, she had forgotten to take themoff, an ominous sign. Sophia's face was flushed with agitation, herhead drooped more than usual, but she lifted it with a sigh of reliefat Rose's entrance. 

'We're in such trouble, dear, ' she said. 

'Trouble! Nonsense! No trouble at all! Look here, Rose, that woman hasdied now. ' She shook the letter threateningly. 'Read this! Reginald'swife! I suppose she was his wife. I dare say he had dozens. '

'Caroline!' Sophia remonstrated. 

Rose took the letter and read what Mrs. Reginald Mallett, believingherself about to die, had written in her big, sprawling hand. Theletter was only to be posted after her death and she made no apologyfor asking the Malletts to see that her daughter had the chance ofearning her living suitably. 'She is a good girl, ' she wrote, 'butwhen I am gone her only friend will be the landlady of this house andthere are young men about the place who are not the right kind. I amtelling my dear girl that I wish her to accept any offer of help shegets from you, and she will do what I ask. '

'So, you see, ' Caroline said as Rose looked up, 'we're not done withReginald yet, and what I propose is that we send Susan for the girlto-morrow. '

'Yes, to-morrow, ' Sophia echoed. 

'Shall I go?' Rose asked. Sophia murmured gratitude, Caroline snorteddoubt, and Rose added, 'No, I think not. She wouldn't like it. Susanwould be better--but not to-morrow. You must write to the child--what's her name? Henrietta--'

'Yes, Henrietta, after our grandmother--the idea! I don't know howReginald dared. '

'Is she a sacred character?' Rose asked dryly. 'Write to her, Caroline, and say Susan will come on the day that suits her best. Youcan't drag her away without warning. Let's treat her courteously, please. '

'Oh, Rose, dear, I think we are always courteous, ' Sophia protested. 

Caroline merely said, 'Bah!' and added, 'And what are we going to dowith her when we get her? She'll giggle, she'll have a dreadfulaccent, Sophia will blush for her. I shan't. I never blush foranybody, even myself, but I shall be bored. That's worse, and if youthink I'm going to edit my stories for her benefit, Sophia, you'remistaken. I never managed to do that, even for the General, and I'mtoo old to begin. ' She removed her spectacles hastily. 'Too old forthat, anyhow. '

Rose smiled. She thought that probably the child of Reginald Mallett, living from hand to mouth in boarding houses, the sharer of hissinking fortunes, the witness of his passions and despairs andinfidelities, would find Caroline's stories innocent enough. Her hopewas that Henrietta would not try to cap them, but the chances werethat she would be a terrible young person, that she would find herselfadrift in the respectability of Radstowe where she was unlikely tomeet those young men, not of the right kind, to whom she wasaccustomed. 

'She must have her father's room, ' Sophia said. She was trying toconceal her excitement. 'We must put some flowers there. I think I'lljust go upstairs and see if there's any little improvement we couldmake. '

They all went upstairs and stood in that room devoted to the memory ofthe scapegrace, but they made no alterations, Sophia expressing thebelief that Henrietta would prefer it as it was; and Caroline, as shewiped away two slow tears, saying that Reginald was a wretch and shecould not see why they should put themselves to any trouble for hisdaughter. 

Book II: _Henrietta_

§ 1

After luncheon Henrietta went to her room to unpack the brown tintrunk which contained all her possessions, and as she ascended thestairs with her hand on the polished mahogany rail, she heard Sophiasaying, 'She's a true Mallett. She has the Mallett ankle. Did younotice it, Caroline?' And Caroline answered harshly, 'Yes, the Mallettankle, but not the foot. Her foot is square, like a block of wood. What could you expect?' Then the drawing-room door was closed softlyon this indiscretion. 

Henrietta continued steadily up the stairs and across the landing toher father's room, and before the long mirror on the wall she haltedto survey her reflected feet. Aunt Caroline had but exaggerated thetruth; they were square, but they were small, and she controlled hertrembling lips. 

She pushed back from her forehead the black, curling hair. She wastired; the luncheon had been a strain, and the carelessly loud wordsof Caroline reminded her that she was undergoing an examination which, veiled by courtesy, would be severe. Already they were blaming hermother for her feet; and all three of them, the blunt Caroline, thetender Sophia, the mysteriously silent Rose, were on the watch for thematernal traits. 

Well, she was not ashamed of them. Her mother had been good, brave, honest, loving, patient, and her father had been none of these things;but no doubt these aunts of hers put manners before morals, as he haddone; and she remembered how, when she was quite a little girl, andthe witness of one of the unpleasant domestic scenes which happenedoften in those days, before Reginald Mallett's wife had learntforbearance, she had noticed her father's face twitch as though inpain. Glad of a diversion, she had asked him with eager sympathy, 'Isit toothache?' and he had answered acidly, 'No, child, only themutilation of our language. ' She remembered the words, and later sheunderstood their meaning and the flushing of her mother's face, thecompression of her lips, and she was indignant for her sake. 

Yet she could feel for her father, in spite of the fact that whateverher accent or grammatical mistakes, her mother's conduct was alwaysright and her father, with his charming air, a little blurred by whathe called misfortune, his clear speech to which Henrietta loved tolisten, was fundamentally unsound. He could not be trusted. That wasunderstood between the mother and daughter: it was one of the facts onwhich their existence rested, it entered into all their calculations, it was the text of all her mother's little homilies. Henrietta mustalways pay her debts, she must tell the truth, she must do nothing ofwhich she was ashamed, and so far Henrietta had succeeded in obeyingthese commands. 

When Reginald Mallett died in the shabby boarding-house kept by Mrs. Banks, he left his family without a penny but with a feeling ofextraordinary peace. They were destitute, but they were no longerovershadowed by the fear of disgrace, the misery of subterfuge, thebewildering oscillations between pity for the man who could not havewhat he wanted and shame for his ceaseless striving after pleasure, his shifts to get it, his reproaches and complaints. 

In the gloomy back bedroom on the third story of the boarding-house helay on a bed hung with dingy curtains, but in the dignity which wasone of his inheritances. Under the dark, close-cut moustache, his lipsseemed to smile faintly, perhaps in amusement at the folly of hislife, perhaps in surprise at finding himself so still; the narrowbeard of a foreign cut was slightly tilted towards the dirty ceiling, his beautiful hands were folded as though in a mockery of prayer. Hewas, as Mrs. Banks remarked when she was allowed to see him, a lovelycorpse. But to Henrietta and her mother, standing on either side ofthe bed, guarding him now, as they had always tried to do, he hadsubtly become the husband and father he should have been. 

'We must remember him like this, ' Mrs. Mallett said, raising her softblue eyes, and Henrietta saw that the small sharp lines which ReginaldMallett had helped to carve in her face seemed to have disappeared. Itwas extraordinary how placid her face became after his death, but asthe days passed it was also noticeable that much of her vitality hadgone too. She left herself in Henrietta's young hands and she, castingabout for a way of earning her living, found good fortune in theterrible basement kitchen where Mrs. Banks moved mournfully and hadher disconsolate being. The gas was always lighted in that cavernouskitchen, but it remained dark, mercifully leaving the dirt halfunseen. A joint of mutton, cold and mangled, was discernible, however, when Henrietta descended to put her impecunious case before thelandlady and, gazing at it, the girl saw also her opportunity. Mrs. Banks had no culinary imagination, but Henrietta found it rising inherself to an inspired degree and there and then she offered herselfas cook in return for board and lodging for her mother and herself. 

'I'm sure I'll be glad to keep you, ' Mrs. Banks said: 'you give theplace a tone, you do really, you and your dear Ma sitting in thedrawing-room sewing of an evening; but it isn't only the cooking, though I do get to hate the sight of food. I get a regular grudgeagainst it. But it's that butcher! Ready money or no meat's his motto, and how to make this mutton last--' She picked it up by the bone andcast it down again. 

'Oh, I can manage butchers, ' Henrietta said. 'Besides, we'll pay ourway. You'll see. Leave the cooking to me. '

'I will, gladly, ' Mrs. Banks said, wiping away a tear. 'Ever sinceBanks took it into his head to jump into the river, it seems like asif I hadn't any spirit, and that Jenkins turns up his ugly nose everytime I put the mutton on the table--when he doesn't begin talking toit like an old friend. I can't bear Jenkins, but he does pay regular, and that's something. Well, I'll get on with the upstairs and leaveyou to it. '

And so Henrietta began the work which kept her amazingly happy, fedand sheltered her mother, who sat all day slowly making beautiful babylinen for one of the big shops, and cemented Henrietta's friendshipwith the lachrymose Mrs. Banks. To be faced with a mutton bone and afew vegetables, to have to wrest from these poor materials anappetizing meal, was like an exciting game, and she played it withzest and with success. She had the dubious pleasure of hearing Mr. Jenkins smack his lips and seeing him distend his nostrils withanticipation; the unalloyed one of watching the pale face of littleMiss Stubb, the typist, grow delicately pink and less dangerouslythin, under the stimulus of good food; the amusement of congratulatingMrs. Banks, in public, on her new cook, and seeing Mrs. Banks, at thehead of the supper table, nod her head with important secrecy. 

'I've made out, ' she told Henrietta, 'that I've a daily girl, withouta character, that's how I can afford her, in the basement, but I mustsay it's made that Jenkins mighty keen on fetching his own boots of amorning, but no lodgers below-stairs is my rule. You look out forJenkins, my dear. He's no good. I know his sort. '

'Oh, I can manage Mr. Jenkins, too, ' Henrietta said, and indeed shemade a point of bringing him to the hardly manageable state for theamusement of proving her capacity. She despised him, but not fornothing was she Reginald Mallett's daughter; and Mr. Jenkins and thebutcher and a gloomy old gentleman who emerged from his bedroom toeat, and locked himself up between meals, were the only men she knew. No doubt Mrs. Mallett, placidly sewing, was alive to the attentionsand frustrations of Mr. Jenkins and had planned her letter to hersisters-in-law some time before she wrote it, but the idea of partingfrom her mother never occurred to Henrietta until Miss Stubb alarmedher. 

'Your mother, ' she said poetically, 'makes me think of snow meltingbefore the sun. In fact, I can't look at her without thinking of snowand snowdrops and--and graves. Last spring I said to Mrs. Banks, "Shewon't see the leaves fall, " I said, and Mrs. Banks agreed. She hasbeen spared, but take care of her in these cold winds, Miss Henrietta, dear. '

'She has a cold, only a cold, ' Henrietta said in a dead voice, and shewent upstairs. Her mother was in bed, and Henrietta looked down at thethin, pretty face. 'How ill are you?' she asked in a threateningmanner. 'Tell me how ill you are. '

'I've only got a cold, Henry dear. I shall be up to-morrow. '

'Promise you won't be really ill. '

'Why should I be?'

'It's Miss Stubb--saying things. '

'Women chatter, ' Mrs. Mallett said. 'If it's not scandal, it's anillness. You ought to know that. '

'They might leave you alone, anyway. '

'Yes, I wish they would, ' Mrs. Mallett said faintly, and dropped backon her pillow. 

Now, sitting in her father's room, with her mother only a few weeksdead, she reproached herself for her readiness to be deceived, for herpreoccupation with her own affairs and the odious Mr. Jenkins, for theexuberance of life which hid from her the dwindling of her mother's, and the fact, now so plain, that when Reginald Mallett died his wife'scapacity for struggling was at an end. She had suffered bitterly fromthe sight of his deterioration and from her failure to prevent it. Inhis sulky, torturing presence she had desired his absence, but thispermanent absence was more than she could bear. And all Henriettacould do was to obey her mother's injunction to accept help from heraunts, but she had refused the offer of an escort to Radstowe andNelson Lodge; she would have no highly respectable servant sniffing atthe boarding-house--and she would have been bound to sniff in thatpermanently scented atmosphere--which was, after all, her home. Sheleft with genuine regret, with tears. 

'You mustn't cry, dearie, ' Mrs. Banks said, holding Henrietta to thebosom of her greasy dress. 'It's a lucky thing for you. '

'Perhaps, ' Henrietta said, 'but I'd rather be with you, and I can'tbear to think of the cooking going to pieces. I'll send you somerecipes for nice dishes. '

'Too many eggs, ' Mrs. Banks said prophetically. 

'I dare say, but you can manage if you think about it. And remember, if Miss Stubb has too much cold mutton, she'll lose her job, and thenyou'll lose her money. It will pay you to feed her. You haven't had adebt since I began to help you. '

'I know, I know; but I'll have them now, for certain. I've told youbefore that Banks took all my ideas with him when he dropped into theriver, ' Mrs. Banks said hopelessly, and on Henrietta's journey toRadstowe it was of Mrs. Banks that she chiefly thought. It seemed asthough she were deserting a friend. 

She was surprised by the smallness of Nelson Lodge as she walked upthe garden path; she had pictured something more imposing than thislow white building, walled off from the wide street; but within shediscovered an inconsistent spaciousness. The hall was panelled inwhite wood, the drawing-room, sparsely but beautifully furnished, waswhite too, and she immediately felt, as indeed she looked, thoroughlyout of harmony with her surroundings. She waited there, in her cheapblack clothes, like some little servant seeking a situation; but herwelcome, when it came, after a rustling of silken skirts on thestairs, assured her that she was acknowledged as a member of thefamily. Sophia took her tenderly to her heart and murmured, 'Oh, mydear, how like your father!' Caroline patted her cheek and said, 'Yes, yes, Reginald's daughter, so she is!' And a moment later, Roseentered, faintly smiling, extending a cool hand. 

Henrietta's acutely feminine eye saw immediately that her Aunt Rosewas supremely well-dressed, and all her past ideas of grandeur, ofplumed hats and feather boas and ornamental walking shoes, left herfor ever. She knew, too, that clothes like these were very costly, beyond her dreams, but she decided, in a moment, to rearrange andsubdue the black trimming of her hat. 

On the other hand, the appearance of the elder aunts almost shockedher. At the first glance they seemed bedizened and indecent in theirmixture of rouge and more than middle age; but at the second and thethird they became attractive, oddly distinguished. She felt sure ofthem, of their sympathy, of her ability to please them. It was AuntRose who made her feel ill at ease, and it was Aunt Rose of whom shethought as she sat by her bedroom window and looked down at the backgarden, bright with the flowers of spring. 

Yet it was Aunt Caroline who had been unkind about her feet. They werelike that, these grand people; they had beautiful manners but nothingsuperficial escaped them; they made no allowances, they went in for nodeceptions, and though it was Caroline who had actually condemned thesmall, strong feet which now rested, slipperless, on the soft carpet, Henrietta was sure that Rose had seen them too. She had seeneverything, though apparently she saw nothing, and Henrietta had toacknowledge her fear of Rose's criticism. It was formidable, for itwould be unflinching in its standards. 

'Well, ' Henrietta thought, 'I can only be myself, and if I'm common--but I'm not really common--it's better than pretending; and of courseI am rather upset by the house and the servants and all the forks andspoons. I hope there won't be anything funny to eat for dinner. Iwish--' To her own amazement, she burst into a brief storm of tears. 'I wish I had stayed with Mrs. Banks. '

She had her place in the boarding-house, she was a power there, andshe missed already her subtle, unrecognized belief in her superiorityover Mrs. Banks and Miss Stubb and Mr. Jenkins and the rest. She wasalso honestly troubled about the welfare of the landlady, who was heronly friend. It was strange to sit in her father's room and look at aportrait of him as a youth hanging on the wall, and remember that Mrs. Banks, who made him shudder, was her only friend. 

She left her seat by the window to look more closely at that portrait, and after a brief examination she turned to the dressing-table to seein the mirror a feminine replica of the face on the wall. She hadnever noticed the likeness before. She had only to push back her hairand she saw her father. Where his nose was straight, hers was slightlytilted, but there was the same darkness of hair and eyes, the samemodelling of the forehead, the same incipient petulance of the lips. 

She was astonished, she was unreasonably pleased, and with the energyof her inspiration she swept back the curls of which her mother hadbeen so proud, and pinned them into obscurity. The resemblance wasextraordinary: even the low white collar of her blouse, fastened witha black bow, repeated the somewhat Byronic appearance of the youngman; and as there came a knock at the door, she turned, a littleshame-faced, but excited in the certainty of her success. 

But it was only Susan, who gave no sign of astonishment at the change. She had come to see if she could help Miss Henrietta to unpack, butHenrietta had already laid away her meagre outfit in the walnuttallboy with the curved legs. Susan, however, would remove the trunk, and if Miss Henrietta would tell her what dress she wished to wearthis evening, Susan would be able to lay out her things. The tin trunkclanked noisily though Susan lifted it with tactful care, andHenrietta blushed for it, but the aged portmanteau, bearing theinitials _R. M. _, became in the discreet presence of Susan a pricelesspossession. 

'It's full of books, ' Henrietta said; 'I won't unpack them. I thoughtmy aunts would let me keep them somewhere. They are my father'sbooks. '

'There's an old bookcase belonging to Mr. Reginald in the box-room, 'Susan said; 'I'll speak to Miss Caroline about it. '

'Did you know my father?' Henrietta asked at once. 

'Yes, Miss Henrietta, ' Susan said. 

'Do you think I'm like him?'

'It's a striking likeness, Miss Henrietta, ' and warming a little, Susan added, 'I was just saying so to Cook. '

'Did Cook know him, too?'

'Oh, yes, Miss Henrietta. Cook and I have been with the family foryears. If you'll tell me which dress you wish to wear--'

'There's only one in the wardrobe, ' Henrietta said serenely, forsuddenly her shabbiness and poverty mattered no longer. She wasstamped with the impress of Reginald Mallett, whom she had despisedyet of whom she was proud, and that impress was like a guarantee, asort of passport. She had a great lightness of heart; she was glad shehad left Mrs. Banks, glad she was in her father's home, and learningfrom Susan that the ladies rested in their own rooms after luncheon, she decided to go out and look on the scenes of her father's youth. 

§ 2

This was not, she told herself, disloyalty to her mother, for had notthat mother, whom she loved and painfully missed, sent her to thisplace? Her mother was generous and sweet; she would grudge nolate-found allegiance to Reginald Mallett. Had she not said they mustremember him at his best, and would she not be glad if Henrietta couldfind bits of that best in this old house, in the streets where he hadwalked, in the sights which had fed his eyes?

Henrietta started out, gently closing the front door behind her. Thewide street was almost empty; a milkcart bearing the legend, 'SalesHall Dairy, ' was being drawn at an easy pace by a demure pony, hisharness adorned with jingling bells. The milkman whistled and, as thecart stopped here and there, she missed the London milkman's harshcry, and missed it pleasurably. This man was in no hurry, there was noimpatience in his knock; the whole place seemed to be half asleep, except where children played on The Green under the old trees. Thiscomparatively small space, mounting in the distance to a little hillbacked by the sky, was more wonderful to Henrietta than Hyde Park whenthe flowers were at their best. There were no flowers here; she sawgrass, two old stone monuments, tall trees, a miniature cliff of greyrock, and sky. On three sides of The Green there were old houses andthere were seats on the grass, but houses and seats had the air ofbeing mere accidents to which the rest had grown accustomed, and itseemed to Henrietta that here, in spite of bricks, she was in thecountry. The trees, the grass, the rocks and sky were in possession. 

She followed one of the small paths round the hill and found herselfin a place so wonderful, so unexpected, that she caught back herbreath and let it out again in low exclamations of delight. She wasnow on the other side of the hill and, though she did not know it, shewas on the site of an ancient camp. The hill was flat-topped; therewere still signs of the ramparts, but it was not on these she gazed. Far below her was the river, flowing sluggishly in a deep ravine, formed on her right hand and as far as she could see by high greycliffs. These for the most part were bare and sheer, but they gave waynow and then to a gentler slope with a rich burden of trees, while, onthe other side of the river, it was the rocks that seemed to encroachon the trees, for the wall of the gorge, almost to the water's edge, was thick with woods. Here and there, on either cliff, a sudden redsplash of rock showed like an unhealed wound, amid the healthier grey. And all around her there seemed to be limitless sky, huge fluffyclouds and gulls as white. 

At the edge of the cliff where she stood, gorse bushes bloomed and, looking to the left, she saw the slender line of a bridge swung highacross the abyss. Beyond it the cliffs lessened into banks, then intomeadows studded with big elms and, on the city side, there were housesred and grey, as though the rocks had simply changed their shapes. Thehouses were clustered close to the water, they rose in terraces andtrees mingled with their chimneys. Below there were intricatewaterways, little bridges, warehouses and ships and, high up, thefairy bridge, delicate and poised, was like a barrier between thatplace of business and activity and this, where Henrietta stood withthe trees, the cliffs, the swooping gulls. It was low tide and theriver was bordered by banks of mud, grey too, yet opalescent. Italmost reflected the startling white of the gulls' wings and, as shelooked at it, she saw that its colour was made up of many; there waspink in it and blue and, as a big cloud passed over the sun, it becamesubtly purple; it was a palette of subdued and tender shades. 

Henrietta heaved a sigh. This was too much. She could look at it butshe could not see it all. Yet this marvellous place belonged to her, and she knew now whence had come the glamour in the stories her fatherhad told her when she was a child. It had come from here, where anaged city had tried to conquer the country and had failed, for thespirit of woods and open spaces, of water and trees and wind, survivedamong the very roofs. The conventions of the centuries, the conventionof puritanism, of worldliness, of impiety, of materialism and ofcharity had all assailed and all fallen back before the strength ofthe apparently peaceful country in which the city stood. The air wassoft with a peculiar, undermining softness; it carried with it a smellof flowers and fruit and earth, and if all the many miles on thefarther side of the bridge should be ravished by men's hands, coveredwith buildings and strewn with the ugly luxuries they thought theyneeded, the spirit would remain in the tainted air and the imprisonedearth. It would whisper at night at the windows, it would smileinvisibly under the sun, it would steal into men's minds and work itswill upon them. And already Henrietta felt its power. She was in a newworld, dull but magical, torpid yet alert. 

She turned away and, walking down another little path threaded throughthe rocks, she stood at the entrance to the bridge and watched peopleon foot, people on bicycles, people in carts coming and going over it. She could not cross herself for she had not a penny in her pocket, butshe stood there gazing and sometimes looking down at the road twohundred feet below. This made her slightly giddy and the people downthere had too much the appearance of pigmies with legs growing fromtheir necks, going about perfectly unimportant business with a greatdeal of fuss. It was pleasanter to see these country people in theircarts, school-girls with plaits down their backs, rosy children inperambulators and an exceedingly handsome man on a fine black horse, afair man, bronzed like a soldier, riding as though he had done it allhis life. 

She looked at him with admiration for his looks and envy for hispossessions, for that horse, that somewhat sulky ease. And it wasquite possible that he was an acquaintance of her aunts! She laughedaway her awed astonishment. Why, her own father had been such as he, though she had never seen him on a horse. She had, after all, toadjust her views a little, to remember that she was a Mallett, amember of an honoured Radstowe family, the granddaughter of a General, the daughter of a gentleman, though a scamp. She was ashamed of thesomething approaching reverence with which she had looked at the manon the horse, but she was also ashamed of her shame; in fact, to beashamed at all was, she felt, a degradation, and she cast the feelingfrom her. 

Here was not only a new world but a new life, a new starting point;she must be equal to the place, the opportunity and the occasion; shewas, she told herself, equal to them all. 

In this self-confident mood she returned to Nelson Lodge and foundCaroline, in a different frock, seated behind the tea-table and in theact of putting the tea into the pot. 

'Just in time, ' she remarked, and added with intense interest, 'Youhave brushed back your hair. Excellent! Look, Sophia, what animprovement! And more like Reginald than ever. Take off your hat, child, and let us see. My dear, I was going to tell you, when I knewyou better, that those curls made you look like an organ-grinder. Don't hush me, Sophia; I always say what I think. '

Henrietta was hurt; this, though Caroline did not know it, was arebuff to the mother who loved the curls; but the daughter would notbetray her sensibility, and as Rose was not present she dared to say, 'An organ-grinder with square feet. '

'Oh, you heard that, did you? Sophia said you would. Well, you must becareful about your shoes. Men always look at a woman's feet. ' Shedisplayed her own, elegantly arched, in lustrous stockings and veryhigh-heeled slippers. 'Sophia and I--Sophia's are nearly, but notquite as good as mine--are they Sophia?--Sophia and I have alwaysbeen particular about our feet. I remember a ball, when I was a girl, where one of my partners--he ended by marrying a ridiculously fatwoman with feet like cannon balls--insisted on calling me Cinderellabecause he said nobody else could have worn my shoes. Delightfulcreature! Do you remember, Sophia?'

Sophia remembered very well. He had called her Cinderella, too, forthe same reason, but as Caroline had been the first to report theremark, Sophia had never cared to spoil her pleasure in it. And nowCaroline did not wait for a reply, Rose entering at that moment, andher attention having to be called to the change in Henrietta's methodof doing her hair. Henrietta stiffened at once, but Rose threw, as itwere, a smile in her direction, and said, 'Yes, charming, ' and helpedherself to cake. 

'And now, ' said Caroline, settling herself for the most interestingsubject in the world, 'your clothes, Henrietta. '

'I haven't any, ' Henrietta said at once; 'but I think they'll do untilI go away. I thought I should like to be a nurse, Aunt Caroline. '

'Nurse! Nonsense! What kind? Babies? Rubbish! You're going to stayhere if you like us well enough, and we've made a little plan'--shenodded vigorously--'a little plan for you. '

'We ought to say at once, ' Sophia interrupted with painful honesty, 'that it was Rose's idea. '

'Rose? Was it? I don't know. Anyhow, we're all agreed. You are to havea sum of money, child; yes, for your father's sake, and perhaps foryour own too, a sum of money to bring you in a little income for yourclothes and pleasures, so that you shall be independent like the restof us. Yes, it's settled. I've written to our lawyer, James Batty. Didyour father ever mention James Batty? But, of course, he wouldn't. Hemarried a fat woman, too, but a good soul, with a high colour, poorthing. Don't say a word, child. You must be independent. Nursing! Bah!And if we don't take care we shall have you marrying for a home. '

'This is your home, ' Sophia said gently. 

'No sentiment, Sophia, please. You're making the child cry. TheMalletts don't marry, Henrietta. Look at us, as happy as the day islong, with all the fun and none of the trouble. We've been terribleflirts, Sophia and I. Rose is different, but at least she hasn'tmarried. The three Miss Malletts of Nelson Lodge! Now there are fourof us, and you must keep up our reputation. '

Overwhelmed by this generosity, by this kindness, Henrietta did notknow what to say. She murmured something about her mother's wish thatshe should earn her living, but Caroline scouted the idea, and Sophia, putting her white hand on one of Henrietta's, assured her that herdear mother would be glad for her child to have the comforts of ahome. 

'I'm not used to them, ' Henrietta said. 'I've always taken care ofpeople. I shan't know what to do. '

They would find plenty for her to do; there were many gaieties inRadstowe and she would be welcomed everywhere. 'And now about yourclothes, ' Caroline repeated. 'You are wearing black, of course. Well, black can be very pretty, very French. Look at Rose. She rarely wearsanything else, but when Sophia and I were about your age, she used towear blue and I wore pink, or the other way round. '

'You do so still, ' Rose remarked. 

'A pink muslin, ' Caroline went on in a sort of ecstasy, 'a Leghorn hatwreathed with pink roses--when was I wearing that, Sophia?'

'Last summer, ' Rose said dryly. 

'So I was, ' Caroline agreed in a matter-of-fact voice. 'Now, Henrietta. Get a piece of paper and a pencil, Sophia, and we'll make alist. '

The discussion went on endlessly, long after Henrietta herself hadtired of it. It was lengthened by the insertion of anecdotes ofCaroline's and Sophia's youth, and hardly a colour or a material wasmentioned which did not recall an incident which Henrietta found moreinteresting than her own sartorial affairs. 

Rose had disappeared, and the dressing-bell was rung before thesubject languished. It would never be exhausted, for Caroline, andeven Sophia, less vivid than her sister in all but her affections, grew pink and bright-eyed in considering Henrietta's points. And allthe time Henrietta had her own opinions, her own plans. She intendedas far as possible to preserve her likeness to her father, which was, as it were, her stock-in-trade. She pictured herself, youthfully slim, gravely petulant, her round neck rising from a Byronic collar fastenedwith a broad, loose bow, and she fancied the society of Radstoweexclaiming with one voice, 'That must be Reginald Mallett's daughter!'

She was to learn, however, that in Radstowe the memories of ReginaldMallett were somewhat dim, and where they were clear they wereneglected. It was generally assumed that his daughter would not careto have him mentioned, while praises of her aunts were constant andenthusiastic and people were kind to Henrietta, she discovered, fortheir sakes. 

The stout and highly-coloured Mrs. Batty was an early caller. Shearrived, rather wheezy, compressed by her tailor into an expensivegown, a basket of spring flowers on her head. She and Henrietta tookto each other, as Mrs. Batty said, at once. Here was a motherlyperson, and Henrietta knew that if she could have Mrs. Batty toherself she would be able to talk more freely than she had done sinceher arrival in Radstowe. There would be no criticism from her, butunlimited good nature, a readiness to listen and to confide and a lovefor the details of operations and illnesses in which she had a kinshipwith Mrs. Banks. Indeed, though Mrs. Batty was fat where Mrs. Bankswas thin, cheerful where she was gloomy, and in possession of aflourishing husband where Mrs. Banks irritably mourned the loss of asuicide, they had characteristics in common and the chief of these wasthe way in which they took to Henrietta. 

'You must come to tea on Sunday, ' Mrs. Batty said. 'We are always athome on Sunday afternoons after four o'clock. I have two big boys, 'she sighed, 'and all their friends are welcome then. ' She lowered hervoice. 'We don't allow tennis--the neighbours, you know, and James hasclients looking out of every window--but there's no harm, as the boyssay, in knocking the billiard balls about. I must say the clickcarries a good way, so I tell the parlourmaid to shut the windows. Andmusic--my boy Charles, ' she sighed again, 'is mad on music. I like atune myself, but he never plays any. You'll hear for yourself if youcome on Sunday. Now you will come, won't you, Miss Henrietta?'

'Yes, she'll come, ' Caroline said. 'Do her good to meet young people. We're getting old in this house, Mrs. Batty, ' and she guffawed inanticipation of the usual denial, but for once Mrs. Batty failed. Herthoughts were at home, at Prospect House, that commodious familymansion situate in its own grounds, and in one of the most favourablepositions in Upper Radstowe. So the advertisement had read before Mr. Batty bought the property, and it was all true. 

'John, ' Mrs. Batty went on, 'is more for sport, though he's in thesugar business, with an uncle. Not my brother--Mr. Batty's. ' She wasanxious to give her husband all the credit. 'They are both good boys, 'she added, 'but Charles--well, you'll see on Sunday. You promise tocome. '

Henrietta promised, and with Mrs. Batty's departure Caroline spoke hermind. She was convinced that the lawyer and his wife were determinedto secure Henrietta as a daughter-in-law. 

'He knows all our affairs, my dear, and James Batty never misses achance of improving his position. Good as it is, it would be all thebetter for an alliance with our family, but I shall disown you at onceif you marry one of those hobbledehoys. The Batty's, indeed! Why, Mrs. Batty herself--'

'Caroline, don't!' Sophia pleaded. 'And I'm sure the young men arevery nice young men, and if Henrietta should fall in love--'

'She won't get any of my money!' Caroline said. 

'But Henrietta won't be in a hurry, ' Sophia announced; and so, overher head, the two discussed her possible marriage as they haddiscussed her clothes, but with less interest and at less length and, as before, Henrietta had her own ideas. A rich man, a handsome one, agay life; no more basement kitchens, no more mutton bones! Already theinfluence of Nelson Lodge was making itself felt. 

§ 3

It was at dinner that the charm of the house was most apparent ToHenrietta. Even on these spring evenings the curtains were Drawn andthe candles lighted, for Caroline said she could not Dine comfortablyin daylight. The pale flames were repeated in The mahogany of thetable; the tall candlesticks, the silver appointments, were reflectedalso in a blur, like a grey mist; the furniture against the wallsbecame merged into the shadows and Susan, hovering there, was no morethan an attentive spirit. 

There was little talking at this meal, for Caroline and Sophia lovedgood food and it was very good. Occasionally Caroline murmured, 'Toomuch pepper, ' or 'One more pinch of salt and this would have beenperfect, ' and bending over her plate, the diamonds in her earssparkled to her movements, the rings on her fingers glittered; andopposite to her Sophia drooped, her pale hair looking almost white, the big sapphire cross on her breast gleaming richly, her resignedattitude oddly at variance with the busy handling of her knife andfork. 

The gold frame round General Mallett's portrait dimly shone, theflowers on the table seemed to give out their beauty and their scentwith conscious desire to please, to add their offerings, and forHenrietta the grotesqueness of the elder aunts, their gay attire, their rouge and wrinkles, gave a touch of fantasy to what wouldotherwise have been too orderly and too respectable a scene. 

In this room of beautiful inherited things, where tradition had builtstrong walls about the Malletts, the sight of Caroline was like a gateleading into the wide, uncertain world and the sight of Rose, allcream and black, was like a secret portal leading to a winding stair. At this hour, romance was in the house, beckoning Henrietta to followthrough that gate or down that stair, but chiefly hovering about thefigure of Rose who sat so straight and kept so silent, her white handsmoving slowly, the pearls glistening on her neck, her face a pale ovalagainst the darkness. She was never more mysterious or more remote;with her even the common acts of eating and drinking seemed, toHenrietta, to be made poetical; she was different from everybody else, but the girl felt vaguely that the wildness of which Caroline made aboast and which never developed into more than that, the wildnesswhich had ruined her father's life, lay numbed and checked somewherebehind the amazing stillness and control of Rose. And she was like awoman who had suffered a great sorrow or who kept a profound secret. 

It was at this hour, when Henrietta was half awed, half soothed, yetvery much alive, feeling that tremendous excitements lay in wait forher just outside, when she was wrapped in beauty, fed by delicatefood, sensitive to the slim old silver under her hands, that shesometimes felt herself actually carried back to the boarding-house, and she saw the grimy tablecloth, the flaring gas jets, the tired wornfaces, the dusty hair of Mrs. Banks and the rubber collar of Mr. Jenkins, and she heard little Miss Stubb uttering platitudes in herattempt to raise the mental atmosphere. There was a great clatter ofknives and forks, a confusion of voices and, in a pause, the sound ofthe exclusive old gentleman masticating his food. 

Then Henrietta would close her eyes and, after an instant, she wouldopen them on this candle-lighted room, the lovely figure of Aunt Rose, the silks and laces and ornaments of Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia;and between the courses one of these two would repeat the gossip of acaller or criticize the cut of her dress. 

No, the conversation was not much better than that of the boarding-house, but the accents were different. Caroline would throw out aFrench phrase, and Henrietta, loving the present, wondering how shehad borne the past, could yet feel fiercely that life was not fair. She herself was not fair: she was giving her allegiance to the outsideof things and finding in them more pleasure than in heroism, enduranceand compassion, and she said to herself, 'Yes, I'm just like myfather. I see too much with my eyes. ' A little fear, which had its owndelight, took hold of her. How far would that likeness carry her? Whatdangerous qualities had he passed on to her with his looks?

She sat there, vividly conscious of herself, and sometimes she saw thewhole room as a picture and she was part of it; sometimes she saw onlythose three whose lives, she felt, were practically over, for evenAunt Rose was comparatively old. She pitied them because their romancewas past, while hers waited for her outside; she wondered at theirhappiness, their interest in their appearance, their pleasure inparties; but she felt most sorry for Aunt Rose, midway between whatshould have been the resignation of her stepsisters and the glowinganticipation of her niece. Yet Aunt Rose hardly invited sympathy ofany kind and the smile always lurking near her lips gave Henrietta afeeling of discomfort, a suspicion that Aunt Rose was not onlyironically aware of what Henrietta wished to conceal, but endowed witha fund of wisdom and a supply of worldly knowledge. 

She continued to feel uncertain about Aunt Rose. She was alwayscharming to Henrietta, but it was impossible to be quite at ease witha being who seemed to make an art of being delicately reserved; andbecause Henrietta liked to establish relationships in which she wassure of herself and her power to please, she was conscious of a faintfeeling of antagonism towards this person who made her doubt herself. 

Aunt Caroline and Aunt Sophia were evidently delighted with theirniece's presence in the house. They liked the sound of her laughterand her gay voice and though Sophia once gently reproached her for herhabit of whistling, which was not that of a young lady, Carolinescoffed at her old-fashioned sister. 

'Let the girl whistle, if she wants to, ' she said. 'It's better thanhaving a canary in a cage. '

'But don't do it too much, Henrietta, dear, ' Sophia compromised. 'Youmustn't get wrinkles round your mouth. '

'No. ' This was a consideration which appealed to Caroline. 'No, child, you mustn't do that. '

They admitted her to a familiarity which they would not have allowedher, and which she never attempted, to exceed, but she was Reginald'sdaughter, she was a member of the family, and her offence in beingalso the daughter of her mother was forgotten. Caroline and Sophiawere deeply interested in Henrietta. Henrietta was grateful andaffectionate. The three were naturally congenial, and the happinessand sympathy of the trio accentuated the pleasant aloofness of Rose. Aunt Rose did not care for her, Henrietta told herself; there wassomething odd about Aunt Rose, yet she remembered that it was AuntRose who had thought of giving her the money. 

Three thousand pounds! It was a fortune, and on that Sunday whenHenrietta was to pay her first visit to Mrs. Batty, Aunt Caroline, turning the girl about to see that nothing was amiss, said warningly, 'You are walking into the lion's den, Henrietta. Don't let one ofthose young cubs gobble you up. I know James Batty, an attractive man, but he loves money, and he knows our affairs. He married his own wifebecause she was a butcher's daughter. '

'A wholesale butcher, ' Sophia murmured in extenuation, 'and I am surehe loved her. '

'And butchers, ' Caroline went on, 'always amass money. It positivelyinclines one to vegetarianism, though I'm sure nuts are bad for thecomplexion. '

'I don't intend to be eaten yet, ' Henrietta said gaily. She was verymuch excited and she hardly heeded Sophia's whisper at the door:

'It's not true, dear--the kindest people in the world, but Carolinehas such a sense of humour. '

Henrietta found that the Batty lions were luxuriously housed. Thebright yellow gravel crunched under her feet as she walked up thedrive; the porch was bright with flowering plants arranged in tiers; aparlourmaid opened the door as though she conferred a privilege and, as Henrietta passed through the hall, she had glimpses of a statueholding a large fern and another bearing a lamp aloft. 

She was impressed by this magnificence; she wished she could pauseto examine this decently draped and useful statuary but she wasushered into a large drawing-room, somewhat over-heated, scentedwith hot-house flowers, softly carpeted, much-becushioned, and sheimmediately found herself in the embrace of Mrs. Batty, who smelt ofeau-de-cologne. Mrs. Batty felt soft, too, and if she were a lionessthere were no signs of claws or fangs; and her husband, a tall, spareman with grey hair and a clean-shaven face, bowed over Henrietta'shand in a courtly manner, hardly to be expected of the best-trainedof wild beasts. 

But for these two the room seemed to be empty, until Mrs. Batty said'Charles!' in a tone of timid authority and Henrietta discovered thata fair young man, already showing a tendency to baldness, was sittingat the piano, apparently studying a sheet of music. This, then, wasone of the cubs, and Henrietta, feeling herself marvellously at easein this house, awaited his approach with some amusement and a littleirritation at his obvious lack of interest. Aunt Caroline need have nofear. He was a plain young man with pale, vague eyes, and he did notknow whether to offer one of his nervous hands at the end of over-longarms, or to make shift with an awkward bow. She settled the matter forhim, feeling very much a woman of the world. 

'Now, where's John?' Mrs. Batty asked, and Charles answered, 'Ratting, in the stable. '

Mrs. Batty clucked with vexation. 'It's the first Sunday for weeksthat I haven't had the room full of people. Now you won't want to comeagain. Very dull for a young girl, I'm sure. '

'Well, well, you can have a chat with Miss Henrietta, ' Mr. Batty said, 'and afterwards perhaps she would like to see my flowers. ' Hedisappeared with extraordinary skill, with the strange effect of nothaving left the room, yet Mrs. Batty sighed. Charles had wandered backto the piano, and his mother, after compressing her lips andwhispering, 'It's a mania, ' drew Henrietta into the depths of asettee. 

'Will he play to us?' she asked. 

'No, no, ' Mrs. Batty answered hastily. 'He's so particular. Why, if Iasked you to have another cup of tea, he'd shut the piano, and thatmakes things very uncomfortable indeed. You can imagine. And John hasthis new dog--really I don't think it's right on a Sunday. It's alldogs and cricket with him. Well, cricket's better than football, forreally, on a Saturday in the winter I never know whether I shall seehim dead or alive. I do wish I'd had a girl. ' She took Henrietta'shand. 'And you, poor dear child, without a mother--what was it shedied of, my dear? Ah you'll miss her, you'll miss her! My own dearmother died the day after I was married, and I said to Mr. Batty, "This can bode no good. " We had to come straight back fromBournemouth, where we'd gone For our honeymoon, and by the time I wasout of black my trousseau was out of fashion. I must say Mr. Batty wasvery good about it. It was her heart, what with excitement and allthat. She was a stout woman. All my side runs to stoutness, but Mr. Batty's family are like hop-poles. Well, I believe it's healthier, andI must say the boys take after him. Now I fancy you're rather likeMiss Rose. '

'They say I am just like my father. '

Mrs. Batty said 'Ah!' with meaning, and Henrietta tried to sitstraighter on the seductive settee. She could not allow Mrs. Batty toutter insinuating ejaculations and, raising her voice, she said:

'Mr. Batty, do play something. '

Charles Batty gazed at her over the shining surface of the grand pianoand looked remarkably like an owl, an owl that had lost its feathers. 

'Something? What?'

'Charles!' exclaimed Mrs. Batty. 

'Oh, I don't know, ' Henrietta murmured. She could think of nothing buta pictorial piece of music her mother had sometimes played on thelodging-house piano, with the growling of thunder-storms, thetwittering of birds after rain and a suggestion of church bells, butshe was determined not to betray herself. 

'Whatever you like. '

He broke into a popular waltz, playing it derisively, yet withpassion, so that Mrs. Batty's ponderous head began to sway andHenrietta's feet to tap. He played as though his heart were in thedance, and to Henrietta there came delightful visions, thrillingsensations, unaccountable yearnings. It was like the music she hadheard at the theatre, but more beautiful. Her eyes widened, but shekept them lowered, her mouth softened and she caught her lip. 

'Now I call that lovely, ' Mrs. Batty said, with the last chord. Hislook questioned Henrietta and she, cautious, simply smiled at him, with a tilt of the lips, a little raising of the eyebrows, meant toassure him that she felt as he did. 

'If you'd play a pretty tune like that now and then, people would beglad to listen, ' Mrs. Batty went on. 'I'm sure I quite enjoyed it. '

Henrietta's suspicions were confirmed by these eulogies: she knewalready that what Mrs. Batty appreciated, her son would despise, andshe kept her little smile, saying tactfully, 'It certainly made onewant to dance. '

'Can you sing?' he asked. 

'Oh, a little. ' She became timid. 'I'm going to learn. ' With thosevague eyes staring at her, she felt the need of justification. 'AuntCaroline says every girl ought to sing. She and Aunt Sophia used tosing duets. '

'Good heavens!' The exclamation came from the depths of CharlesBatty's being. 'They don't do it now, do they?'

Henrietta's pretty laughter rang out. 'No, not now. ' But though shelaughed there came to her a rather charming picture of her aunts infull skirts and bustles, their white shoulders bare, with sashes roundtheir waists and a sheet of music shared, their mouths open, theireyes cast upwards. 

'Every girl ought to sing, ' Charles quoted, and suddenly darted atHenrietta the word, 'Why?'

'Oh, well--' It was ridiculous to be discomposed by this young man, towhom, she was sure, she was naturally superior; but sitting behindthat piano as though it were a pulpit, he had an air of authority andshe was anxious to propitiate him. 'Well--' Henrietta repeated, hanging on the word. 

'For your own glorification, that's all, ' Charles told her. 'That'sall. ' He caught his head in his hands. 'It drives me mad. '

'Charles!' Mrs. Batty said again. That word seemed to be the wholeextent of her intercourse with him. 

'Mad! Music--divine! And people get up and squeak. How they dare! Aviolation of the temple!'

'Oh, dear me!' Mrs. Batty groaned. 

'You play the piano yourself, ' Henrietta said. 

'Because I can. I'd show you if you cared about it. '

'I think I would rather go and see Mr. Batty's flowers. '

'Yes, dear, do. Charles, take her to your father. ' Mrs. Batty was veryhot; it would be a relief to her to heave and sigh alone. 

Charles rose and advanced, stooping a little, carrying his arms asthough they did not belong to him and, in the hall, beside one of thegleaming statues, he paused. 

'I've offended you, ' he said miserably. 'I make mistakes--somehow. Nobody explains. I shall do it again. '

'You were rather rude, ' Henrietta said. 'Why should you assume that Isqueak?'

'Sure to, ' Charles said hopelessly, 'or gurgle. Look here, I'll teachyou myself, if you like. '

'I won't be bullied. '

'Then you'll never learn anything. Women are funny, ' he said; 'butthen everybody is. Do you know, I haven't a single friend in theworld?'

'Why not?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know. I don't get on. '

'If it comes to that, I haven't a friend of my own age, either. Andyou have a brother. '

'Ratting!' Charles said eloquently. 'You'll hear the noise. ' He handedher over to his father's care. 

She was more than satisfied with her afternoon. She did not see JohnBatty but she heard the noise; she was aware that Mr. Batty consideredher a delightful young person; she had sufficiently admired hisflowers and he presented her with a bunch of orchids. For Mrs. Battyshe felt an amused affection; she was interested in the unfortunateCharles. She felt her life widening pleasantly and, as she crunchedagain down the gravel drive, the orchids in her hand, she felt adisinclination to go home. She wanted to walk under the great treeswhich, spread with brilliant green, made a long avenue on the otherside of the road; to wander beyond them, where a belt of grass led toa wild shrubbery overlooking the gorge at its lowest point. 

Here there were unexpected little paths running out to promontories ofthe cliff and, at a sudden turn, she would find herself in what lookedalmost like danger. Below her the rock was at an angle to harbourhawthorn trees all in bud, blazing gorse bushes, bracken stifflyuncurling itself and many kinds of grasses, but there were nearly twohundred feet between her and the river, now at flood, and she feltthat this was something of an adventure. She followed each little pathin turn, half fearfully, for she was used to a policeman at everycorner; but she met no tramp, saw no suspicious-looking character and, finding a seat under a hawthorn tree at a little distance from thecliff's edge, she sat down and put the orchids beside her. 

It was part of the strange change in her fortune that she shouldactually be handling such rare flowers. She had seen them in florists'windows insolently putting out their tongues at people like herselfwho rudely stared, and now she was touching them and they looked quitepolite, and she thought, with the bitterness which, bred of herexperiences, constantly rose up in the midst of pleasures, 'It'sbecause they know I have three thousand pounds and six pairs of silkstockings. '

Then she noticed that one of the flowers was missing, a little one ofa fairy pink and shape, and almost immediately she heard footsteps onthe grass and saw a man approaching with the orchid in his hand. Sherecognized the man she had seen riding the black horse on the day shearrived in Radstowe and her heart fluttered. This was romance, this, she had time to think excitedly, must be preordained. But when hehanded her the flower with a polite, 'I think you dropped this, ' shewished he had chosen to keep the trophy. If she had had the happinessof seeing him conceal it!

She said nervously, 'Oh, yes, thank you very much. I'd just missedit, ' and as he turned away she had at least the minor joy of seeing alook of arrested interest in his eyes. 

She sat there holding the frail and almost sacred branch. She supposedshe was in love; there was no other explanation of her feelings; andwhat a marvellous sequence of events! If Mr. Batty had not given herthe orchids this romantic episode could not have happened. And she wasglad that the eyes of the stranger had not rested on her that firstday when she was wearing her shabby, her atrociously cut clothes. Fatehad been kind in allowing him to see her thus, in a black dress with abroad white collar, a carefully careless bow, silk stockings coveringher matchless ankles and--she glanced down--shoes that did their bestto conceal the squareness of her feet. 

She recognized her own absurdity, but she liked it: she Had leisure inwhich to be absurd, she had nothing else to do, And romance, which hadseemed to be waiting for her outside Nelson Lodge, had now met her inthe open! She was not going to pass it by. This was, she knew, no morethan a precious secret, a little game she could play all by herself, but it had suddenly coloured vividly a life which was already openingwider; and she would have been astonished and perhaps disgusted, tolearn that Aunt Rose had once occupied herself with similar dreamings. But She was spared that knowledge and she was tempted to wait in herplace on the chance that the stranger would return, but, deciding thatit was hardly what a Mallett would do, she rose reluctantly, carryingthe pink orchid in one hand, the less favoured ones in the other. 

The evening was exquisite: she saw a pale-blue sky fretted with greenleaves, striped with tree trunks astonishingly black; she heardsteamers threshing through the water and giving out warning whistles, sounds to stir the heart with the thoughts of voyage, of danger, andof unknown lands; and as she walked up the long avenue of elms shefound that all the people strolling out after tea for an evening walkhad happy, pleasant faces. 

She met fathers and mothers in loitering advance of children, shylovers with no words for each other, an old lady in a bath chairpropelled by a man as old, young men in check caps, with flowers intheir coats, earnest people carrying prayer-books and umbrellas, girlswith linked arms and shrill laughter; and she envied none of them: notthe children, finding interest in everything they saw; not theparents, proud in possession; not the old lady whose work was done, not the young men and women eyeing each other and letting out theirenticing laughter; she envied no one in the world. She had found anoccupation, and that night, sitting at the dinner-table, she wasconscious of the difference in herself and of a new kinship with thesewomen, the two who could look back on adventures, rosy and poetic, theone who seemed shrouded in some delicate mystery. It was as thoughshe, too, had been initiated; she was surer of herself, even in thepresence of Aunt Rose, with her beauty like that of a white flower, the faint irony of her smile. 

§ 4

A few days later Rose said, 'I want to take you to see a friend ofmine, a Mrs. Sales. '

'Do the milkcarts belong to them?' Henrietta asked at once. 

'Yes. ' Rose was amused. 'Mrs. Sales is an invalid and she would liketo see you. Shall we go on Saturday?' She added as she left the room, 'Mrs. Sales was hurt in a hunting accident, but you need not avoid thesubject. She likes to talk about it. '

'What a good thing, ' Henrietta said, practically. 

Aunt Rose was dressed for walking and Henrietta was afraid of beingasked to go with her, but Aunt Rose made no such suggestion. SinceSunday Henrietta had been exploring Radstowe and its suburbs with anenthusiasm surprising to the elder aunts, who did not care forexercise; but Henrietta was as much inspired by the hope of seeingthat man again as by interest in the old streets, the unexpectedalleys, the flights of worn steps leading from Upper to LowerRadstowe, the slums, cheek by jowl with the garden of some old house, the big houses deteriorated into tenements. All these had their owncharm and the added one of having been familiar to her father, but shenever forgot to watch for the hero on the horse, the restorer of herorchid. If she met him, should she bow to him, or pretend not to seehim? She had practised various expressions before the glass, and hadalmost decided to look up as he passed and flash a glance of puzzledrecognition from her eyes. She thought she could do it satisfactorilyand to-day she meant to cross the bridge for the first time. He hadbeen riding over the bridge that afternoon and what had happened oncemight happen again. Moreover, she had a feeling that across the waterthere was something waiting for her. Certainly behind the treesclothing the gorge there was the real country, with cows and sheep andhorses in the meadows, with the possibility of rabbits in the lanes, and she had never yet seen a rabbit running wild. There wereinnumerable possibilities on that farther side. 

She crossed the bridge, stood to look up and down the river, to watchthe gulls, white against the green, to consider the ant-like hurryingof the people on the road below and the clustered houses on the cityside, a medley of shapes and colours, rising in terraces, the wholelike some immense castle guarding the entrance to the town. And asbefore, carriages and carts went and came over, schoolgirls onbicycles, babies in perambulators, but this time there was no man on ahorse. She knew that this mattered very little; her stimulatedexcitement was hardly more than salt and pepper to a dish alreadyappetizing enough, and now and then as she went along the road on alevel with the tree-tops in the gorge and had glimpses of water and ofrock, she had to remind herself of her preoccupation. 

She passed big houses with their flowery gardens and then, suddenlytimorous, she decided not to go too far afield. She might get lost, she might meet nasty people or horned beasts. A little path on herright hand had an inviting look; it might lead her down through thetrees to the water's edge. It was all strewn and richly brown withlast autumn's leaves and on a tree a few yards ahead she saw abrilliant object--tiny, long-tailed, extraordinarily swift. It was outof sight before she had time to tell herself that this was a squirrel;and again she had a consciousness of development. She had seen asquirrel in its native haunts! This was wonderful, and she approachedthe tree. The squirrel had vanished, but these woods, within sound ofa city, yet harbouring squirrels, seemed to have become one of herpossessions. She was enriched, she was a different person, and she, whose familiar fauna had been stray cats and the black beetles in Mrs. Banks' kitchen, was actually in touch with nature. She now felt equalto meeting unattended cows, but the woods offered enough excitementfor to-day. 

She found that her path did not immediately descend. It led herlevelly to an almost circular green space; then it became enclosedagain and soft to the feet with grass; and just ahead of her, blockingher way, she saw two figures, those of a woman and a man. Their backswere towards her, but there was no mistaking Aunt Rose's back. It wasstraight without being stiff, her dress fell with a unique perfectionand the little hat and grey floating veil were hers alone. 

For an instant Henrietta stood still, and the man, turning to look athis companion, showed the profile of her stranger. At the same momenthe touched Aunt Rose's hand and before Henrietta swerved and sped backwhence she had come, she saw that hand removed gently, as thoughreluctantly, and the head, mistily veiled, shaken slowly. 

Her first desire was for flight and, safely on the road again, shefound her heart beating to suffocation; she was filled with anindignation that almost brought her to tears; it was as though AuntRose had deliberately robbed her of treasure--Aunt Rose, who wasalmost middle-aged! For a moment she despised that fair, handsome manwhose image had filled her mind for what seemed a long, long time;then she felt pity for him who had no eyes for youth, yet sheremembered his look of arrested interest. 

But steadying her thoughts and enjoying her dramatic bitterness, shelaughed. He had merely surprised her likeness to Aunt Rose and thatwas all. Her dream was over. She had known it was a dream, but theawakening was cruel; it was also intensely exciting. She did notregret it; she had at least discovered something about Aunt Rose. Shehad a lover. That look of his, that pleading movement of his hand, were unmistakable; he was a lover, and perhaps she, Henrietta Mallett, alone knew the truth. She had suspected a secret, now she knew it; andshe had a sense of power, she had a weapon. She imagined herselfstanding over Aunt Rose, armed with knowledge, no longer afraid; shewas involved in a romantic, perhaps a shameful, situation. Aunt Rosewas meeting a lover clandestinely in the woods while Aunt Caroline andAunt Sophia sat innocently at home, marvelling at Rose's indifferenceto men, yet rejoicing in her spinsterhood; and Henrietta felt thatRose had wronged her stepsisters almost as much as she had wronged herniece. She was deceitful; that, in plain terms, accounted for what hadseemed a mysterious and conquered sorrow. It was Henrietta who was tosuffer, through the shattering of a dream. 

She went home, walking quickly, but feeling that she groped in a fog, broken here and there by lurid lights, the lights of knowledge anddetermination. She was younger than Aunt Rose, she was as pretty, andshe was the daughter of Reginald Mallett who, though she did not knowit, had always wanted the things desired by other people. She couldcontinue to love her stranger and at the back of her mind was theunacknowledged conviction that Aunt Rose's choice must be well worthloving. And again how strangely events seemed to serve her: first thedropping of an orchid and now the leaping of a squirrel! She feltherself in the hands of higher powers. 

She had a feverish longing to see Rose again, to see her plainly forthe first time and dressing for dinner was like preparing for a greatevent. Yet when dinner-time came everything was surprisingly the same. The deceived Caroline and Sophia ate with the usual appetite, Susanhovered with the same quiet attention, and Rose showed no sign of arecent interview with a lover. Across the candlelight she looked atHenrietta kindly and Henrietta remembered the three thousand pounds. She did not want to remember them. They constituted an obligationtowards this woman who did not sufficiently appreciate her, who metthat man secretly, in a wood, who was beautiful with a far-off kind ofbeauty, like that of the stars. And while these angry thoughts passedthrough Henrietta's mind, Rose's tender expression had developed intoa smile, and she asked, 'Did you have a nice walk?'

Henrietta gulped. She looked steadily at Rose, and on her lips certainwords began to form themselves, but she did not utter them, andinstead of saying as she intended, 'Yes, I went across the bridge andinto those woods on the other side, ' she merely said, 'Yes, yes, thankyou, ' and smiled back. It had been impossible not to smile and she wasangry with Aunt Rose for making her a hypocrite. Perhaps she hadsmiled like that in the wood and she did not look so very old. Eventhe flames of the candles, throwing her face into strong relief as sheleaned forward, did not reveal any lines. 

'Don't walk too much, child, ' Caroline said. 'It enlarges the feet. Girls nowadays can wear their brothers' shoes and men don't like that. Have I ever told you'--Caroline was given to repetition of herstories--'how one of my partners, ridiculous creature, insisted oncalling me Cinderella for a whole evening? Do you remember, Sophia?'

'Yes, dear, ' Sophia said, and she determined that some day, when shewas alone with Henrietta, she would tell her that she, too, had beencalled Cinderella that night. It was hard, but, since she loved hersister, not so very hard, to ignore her own little triumphs, yet shewould like Henrietta to know of them. 'Dear child, ' she murmuredvaguely. 

'We have our shoes made for us, ' Caroline went on. 'It's necessary. 'She snorted scorn for a large-footed generation. 

Rose laughed. She said, 'Walk as much as you like, Henrietta. Healthis better than tiny feet. '

Henrietta had no response for this remark. For the first time she feltout of sympathy with her surroundings, and her resentment against Rosespread to her other aunts. They were foolish in their talk of men andlittle feet; they knew, for all their worldliness, nothing about life. They had never known what it was to be insufficiently fed or clothed;they had never battled with black beetles and mutton bones, theirwhite hands had never been soiled by greasy water and potato skins andshe felt a bitterness against them all. 'Nonsense, Rose, what do youknow about it?' Caroline asked. 'You're a nun, that's what you are. '

'Ah, lovely!' Sophia sighed, but Henrietta, thinking of that man inthe wood, raised her dark eyebrows sceptically. 

'Lovely! Rubbish! A nun, and the first in the family. All our women, 'Caroline turned to Henrietta, 'have broken hearts. They can't help it. It's in the blood. You'll do it yourself. All except Rose. And ourmen--' she guffawed; 'yes, even the General--but if I tell you aboutour men Sophia will be shocked. '

'The men!' Henrietta straightened herself and looked round the table. Her dark eyes shone, and the anger she was powerless to displayagainst Aunt Rose, the remembrance of her own and her mother'sstruggles, found an outlet. 'You can't tell me anything I don't know. I don't think it is funny. Haven't I suffered through one of them? Myfather, he wasn't anything to boast about. '

'Henrietta, ' Sophia said gently, and Caroline uttered a stern, 'Whatare you saying?'

'I don't care, ' Henrietta said. 'Perhaps you're proud of all the harmhe did, but my mother and I had to bear it. He was weak and selfish;we nearly starved, but he didn't. Oh, no, he didn't!' With her handsclasped tightly on her knee she bent over the table and her head waslowered with the effect of some small animal prepared for a spring. 'Do you know, ' she said, 'he wore silk shirts? Silk shirts! and I hadonly one set of underclothing in the world! I had to wash themovernight. That was my father--a Mallett! Were they all like that?'

There was silence until Caroline, peeling an apple with tremblingfingers, said severely, 'I don't think we need continue thisconversation. ' Her indignation was beyond mere words; she wasoutraged; her brother had been insulted by this child who owed hissisters gratitude; the family had been held up to scorn, andHenrietta, aware of what she had done and of her obligations, wasoverwhelmed with regret, with confusion, with the sense that, afterall, it was she who really loved and understood her father. 

'We will excuse you, Henrietta, if you have finished your dessert, 'Caroline said. She had a great dignity. 

This was a dismissal and Henrietta stood up. She could not take backher words, for they were true: she did not know how to apologize fortheir manner; she felt she would have to leave the house to-morrow andshe had a sudden pride in Aunt Caroline and in her own name. But therewas nothing she could do. 

Most unexpectedly, Rose intervened. 'You must forgive Henrietta'sbitterness, ' she said quietly. 'It is natural. '

'But her own father!' Sophia remonstrated tearfully, and addedtenderly, 'Ah, poor child!'

Henrietta dropped into her chair. She wept without concealment. 'Itisn't that I didn't love him, ' she sobbed. 

'Ah, yes, you loved him, ' Sophia said. 'So did we. ' She dabbed herface with her lace handkerchief. 'It is Rose who knows nothing abouthim, ' she said, with something approaching anger. 'Nothing!'

'Perhaps that is why I understand, ' Rose said. 

'No, no, you don't!' Henrietta cried. She could not admit that. Shewould not allow Aunt Rose to make such a claim. She looked fromCaroline to Sophia. 'It's we who know, ' she said. Yes, it was theythree who were banded together in love for Reginald Mallett, in theirsympathy for each other, in the greater nearness of their relationshipto the person in dispute. She looked up, and she saw through her tearsa slight quiver pass over the face of Rose and she knew she had hurther and she was glad of it. 'You must forgive me, ' she said toCaroline. 

'Well, well; he was a wretch--a great wretch--a great dear. Let us sayno more about it. '

It was Rose, now, who was in disgrace, and it was Henrietta, Carolineand Sophia who passed an evening of excessive amiability in thedrawing-room. 

Henrietta felt heroically that she had thrown down her glove and itwas annoying, the next morning, to find Rose would not pick it up. Sheremained charming; she was inimitably calm: she seemed to haveforgotten her offence of the night before and Henrietta delighted inthe thought that, though Rose did not know it, she and Henrietta wererivals in love, and she told herself that her own time would come. 

She had only to wait. She was a great believer in her own luck, andhad not Aunt Caroline assured her that all the Mallett women were bornto break hearts--all but Aunt Rose? Some day she was bound to meetthat man again and, looking in the glass after the Mallett manner, shewas pleased with what she saw there. She was her father's daughter. Her father had never denied himself anything he wanted, and since heroutbreak against him she felt closer to him; she was prepared tocondone his sins, even to emulate them and find in him her excuse. Shelooked at the portrait on the wall, she kissed her hand to it. Somehowhe seemed to be helping her. 

But with all her carefully nurtured enmity, she could not deny heradmiration for Aunt Rose. She was proud to sit beside her in thecarriage which took them to Sales Hall, and on that occasion Rosetalked more than usual, telling Henrietta little stories of the peopleliving in the houses they passed and little anecdotes of her ownchildhood connected with the fields and lanes. 

Henrietta sighed suddenly. 'It must be nice, ' she said, 'to be part ofa place. You can't be part of London, in lodging-houses, with nofriends. I should love to have had a tree for a friend, all my life. It sounds silly, but it would make me feel different. ' She was angrywith herself for saying this to Aunt Rose, but again she could nothelp it. She saw too much with her eyes and Aunt Rose pleased them andshe assured herself that though these softened her heart and loosenedher tongue, she could resume her reserve at her leisure. 'There was atree, a cherry, in one of the gardens once, but we didn't stay therelong. We had to go. ' She added quickly, 'It was too expensive for us. I suppose they charged for the tree, but I did long to see it blossom;and this spring, ' she waved a hand, 'I've seen hundreds--I've seen asquirrel--' She stopped. 

'Dear little things, ' Rose said. They were jogging alongside the high, bare wall she hated, and the big trees, casting their high, widebranches far above and beyond it, seemed to be stretching out to thesea and the hills. 

'Have you seen one lately?' Henrietta asked. 

'What? A squirrel? No, not lately. They're shy. One doesn't see themoften. '

'Oh, then I was lucky, ' Henrietta said. 'I saw one in those woodswe've just passed, the other day. ' She looked at her Aunt Rose'screamy cheek. There was no flush on it, her profile was serene, thedark lashes did not stir. 

'Soon, ' Rose said, 'you will see hills and the channel. '

'And when shall we come to Mrs. Sales' house? Is she an old lady?'

'I don't think you would call her very old. She is younger than I am. '

'Oh, that's not old, ' Henrietta said kindly. 'Has she any children?'

'No, there's a cat and a dog--especially a cat. '

'And a husband, I suppose?'

'Yes, a husband. Do you like cats, Henrietta?'

'They catch mice, ' Henrietta said informatively. 

'I don't think this one has ever caught a mouse, but it lies in wait--for something. Cats are horrible; they listen. ' And she added, asthough to herself, 'They frighten me. '

'I'm more afraid of dogs, ' Henrietta said. 

'Oh, but you mustn't be. '

'Well, ' Henrietta dared, 'you're afraid of cats. '

'I know, but dogs, they seem to be part of one's inheritance--dogs andhorses. '

'All the horses I've known, ' Henrietta said with her odd bitterness, 'have been in cabs, and even then I never knew them well. '

'Francis Sales must show you his, ' Rose said. 'There are the hills. Now we turn to the left, but down that track and across the fields isthe short cut to Sales Hall. One can ride that way. '

'I should like to see the dairy, ' Henrietta remarked, 'or do theypretend they haven't one?'

Rose smiled. 'No, they're very proud of it. It's a model dairy. I'veno doubt Francis will be glad to show you that, too. And here we are. '

The masculine hall, with its smell of tobacco, leather and tweed, thelow winding staircase covered with matting, its walls adorned withsporting prints, was a strange introduction to the room in whichHenrietta found herself. She had an impression of richness and colour;the carpet was very soft, the hangings were of silk, a fire burned inthe grate though the day was warm and before the fire lay the cat. Thedog was on the window-sill looking out at the glorious world, full ofsmells and rabbits which he loved and which he denied himself for thegreater part of each day because he loved his mistress more, but hejumped down to greet Rose with a great wagging of his tail. 

She stooped to him, saying, 'Here is Henrietta, Christabel. Henrietta, this is Mrs. Sales. '

The woman on the couch looked to Henrietta like a doll animated bysome diabolically clever mechanism, she was so pink and blue and fair. She was, in fact, a child's idea of feminine beauty and Henrietta felta rush of sorrow that she should have to lie there, day after day, watching the seasons come and go. It was marvellous that she hadcourage enough to smile, and she said at once, 'Rose Mallett is alwaystrying to give me pleasure, ' and her tone, her glance at Rose, startled Henrietta as much as if the little thin hand outside thecoverlet had suddenly produced a glittering toy which had its uses asa dagger. She, too, looked at Rose, but Rose was talking to the dogand it was then that Henrietta became really aware of the cat. It wascertainly listening; it had stretched out its fore-paws and revealedshining, nail-like claws, and those polished instruments seemed tomatch the words which still floated on the warm air of the room. 

'And now she has brought you, ' Christabel went on. 'It was kind of youto come. Do sit here beside me. Tell me what you think of Rose. Tellme what you think, ' she laughed, 'of your aunt. She's beautiful, isn'tshe?'

'Yes, very, ' Henrietta said, and she spoke coldly, because she, too, was a Mallett, and she suspected this praise uttered in Rose's hearingand still with that sharpness as of knives. She had never been in aroom in which she felt less at ease: perhaps she had been prejudicedby Aunt Rose's words about the cat, but that seemed absurd and she wasconfused by her vague feelings of anger and pity and suspicion. 

However, she did her best to be a pleasant guest. She had somehow tobreak the tenseness in the room and she called on her reserve ofanecdote. She told the story of Mr. Jenkins trying to fetch his bootsand catch a glimpse of Mrs. Banks's daily help who could cook but hadno character; she described the stickiness of his collar; and becauseshe was always readily responsive to her surroundings, she found itnatural to be humorous in a somewhat spiteful way; and at a casualmention of the Battys, she became amusing at the expense of Charlesand felt a slight regret when she had roused Christabel's laughter. Itseemed unkind; he had confided in her; she had betrayed him; and Rosecompleted her discomfiture by saying, 'Ah, don't laugh at poorCharles. He feels too much. '

Christabel nodded her head. 'Your aunt is very sympathetic. Sheunderstands men. ' She added quickly, 'Have you met my husband?'

'No, ' Henrietta said, 'I've only seen your carts. '

The two women laughed and it was strange to hear them united in thatmirth. Henrietta looked puzzled. 'Well, ' she explained, 'it was one ofthe first things I noticed. It stuck in my head. ' Naturally theimpressions of that day had been unusually vivid and she saw withpainful clearness the figure of the man on the horse, as enduring asthough it had been executed in bronze yet animated by ardent life. 

'Well, ' Christabel said, 'you are to have tea with the owner of thecarts. Rose has tea with him every time she comes. It's part of theceremony. ' She sighed wearily; the cat moved an ear; the nurse enteredas a signal that the visitors must depart. 'You'll come again, won'tyou?' Christabel asked, holding Henrietta's hand and, as Rose said afew words to the nurse, she whispered, 'Come alone'; and surprisingly, from the hearthrug, there was a loud purring from the cat. 

It was like release to be in the matted corridor again and it was insilence that Rose led the way downstairs. Henrietta followed slowly, looking at the pictures of hounds in full cry, top-hatted ladiestaking fences airily, red-coated gentlemen immersed in brooks, but atthe turn of the stairs she stood stock-still. She had the physicalsensation of her heart leaving its place and lodging in her throat. Her stranger was standing in the hall; he was looking at Aunt Rose, and she knew now what expression he was wearing in the wood; he waslooking at her half-angrily and as though he were suffering fromhunger. She could not see her aunt's face, but when Henrietta stoodbeside her, Rose turned, saying, 'Henrietta, let me introduce Mr. Sales. '

He said, 'How do you do?' and then she saw again that look of interestwith which she seemed to have been familiar for so long. 'I think Ihave seen you before, ' he said. 

'It was you who picked up my orchid. '

'Of course. ' He looked from her to Rose. 'I couldn't think who youreminded me of, but now I know. '

'I don't think we are very much alike, ' Henrietta said. 

Rose laughed. 'Oh, don't say that. I have been glad to think we are. '

'You might be sisters, ' said Francis Sales. 

This little scene, being played so easily and lightly by this man andwoman, had a nightmare quality for Henrietta. It had the confusion, the exaggerated horror of an evil dream, without the far-awayconsciousness of its unreality. Here she was, in the presence of theman she loved and it was wicked to love him. She had longed to meethim and now she wished she might have kept his memory only, the figureon the horse, the man with the pink orchid in his hand. She hadsuspected her Aunt Rose of a secret love affair, she had nowdiscovered her guilty of sin. The evidence was slight, but Henrietta'sconviction was tremendous. She was horrified, but she was also elated. This was drama, this was life. She was herself a romantic figure; shewas robbed of her happiness, her youth was blighted; the womanupstairs was wronged and Henrietta understood why there were knives onher tongue: she understood the watchfulness of the cat. 

Yet, as they sat in the cool drawing-room with its pale flowerychintz, its primrose curtains, the faded water-colours on the wallsand Aunt Rose pouring tea into the flowered cups, she might, if shehad wished, have been persuaded that she was wrong. Perhaps she hadmistaken that angry, starving look in the man's eyes; it had gone;nothing could have been more ordinary than his expression and hisconversation. But she knew she was not wrong and she sat there, on thealert, losing not a glance, not a tone. Her limbs were trembling, shecould not eat and she was astonished that Aunt Rose could nibblebiscuits with such nonchalance, that Francis Sales could eat plumcake. 

He was, without doubt, the most attractive man she had ever seen; hislong brown fingers fascinated her. And again she wondered at the oddsequence of events. She had seen his name on the carts, she had seenhim on the horse, he had picked up her pink orchid, she had been ledby Fate and a squirrel into the wood and now she found him here. Itwas like a play and it would be still more like a play if she snatchedhim from Aunt Rose. In that idea there was the prompting of herfather, but her mother's part in her was a reminder that she must notsnatch him for herself. No, only out of danger; men were helpless, they were like babies in the hands of women, and hands could differ;they could hurt or soothe, and she imagined her own performing thelatter task. She saw it as her mission, and on the way home she toldherself that her silence was not that of anger but of dedication. 

§ 5

She thought Aunt Rose looked at her rather curiously, though there wasno expression so definite in that glance. Her aunts did not askquestions, they never interfered, and if Henrietta chose to be silentit was her own affair. She was, as a matter of fact, swimming in awarm bath of emotion and she experienced the usual chill when shedescended from the carriage and felt the pavement under her feet. Shehad dedicated herself to a high purpose, but for the moment it wasimpossible to get on with the noble work. The mere business of lifehad to be proceeded with, and though the situation was absorbing itreceded now and then until, looking at her Aunt Rose, she was remindedof it with a shock. 

She looked often at her aunt, finding her more than ever fascinating. She tried to see her with the eyes of Francis Sales, she tried toimagine how Rose's clear grey eyes, so dark sometimes that they seemedblack, answered the appeal of his, yet, as the days passed, Henriettafound it difficult to remember her resignation and her wrongs in thisnew life of luxury and pleasure. 

She woke each morning to the thought of gaiety and to the realizationof comfort and the blessed absence of anxiety. Her occupation was thegetting of enjoyment and she took it all eagerly yet without greed, and as she was enriched she became generous with her own offerings oflaughter, sympathy and affection. She liked and looked for thebrightening of Caroline and Sophia at her approach, she becamepleasantly aware of her own ability to charm and she rejoiced in anexterior world no longer limited to streets. Each morning she went toher window and looked over and beyond the roofs, so beautiful andvaried in themselves, to the trees screening the open country acrossthe river and if the sight reminded her to sigh for her own sorrowsand to think bitterly of Aunt Rose, she had not time to linger on heremotions. Summer was gay in Upper Radstowe. There were tea-parties andpicnics, she paid calls with her aunts and learnt to play lawn tenniswith her contemporaries. Her friendship with the Battys ripened. 

She was always sure of her welcome at Prospect House, and though sheoften assured herself that she could love no one but Francis Sales, that was no reason why others should not love her. From that point ofview John Batty was a failure. He took her to a cricket match, butfinding that she did not know the alphabet of the game, and was moreinterested in the spectators than in the players, he gave her up. Headmired her appearance, but it did not make amends for ignorance ofsuch a grossness; and, equally displeased with him, she returned homealone while he watched out the match. 

The next day when she paid her usual Sunday visit, she ignored himpointedly and mentally crossed him off her list. Charles, ugly andodd, was infinitely more responsive, though he greeted her on thisoccasion with reproach. 

'You went to a cricket match yesterday with John. '

'It was very boring and I got a headache. I shall never go again. '

'He said he wouldn't take you. '

Henrietta smiled subtly, implying a good deal. 

'I shouldn't have thought, ' Charles went on mournfully, 'of suggestingsuch a thing. '

'My aunts were rather shocked. I went on the top of a tramcar withhim. '

'But if you can go out with him, why shouldn't you go out with me?'

'But where?' Henrietta questioned practically. 

'Well, to a concert. '

'When?'

'When there is one. I don't know. They won't have one in thisGod-forsaken place until the autumn. '

'That's a long time ahead. '

He spread his hands. 'You see, I never have any luck. I just want youto promise. '

'Oh, I'll promise, ' Henrietta said. 

'It will be the first time I've been anywhere with a girl, ' he said. 'I don't get on. '

'Have you wanted to?'

He sighed. 'Yes, but not much. ' Her laughter, which was so pretty, startled him; it also delighted him with its music, and his sad eyesgrew wider and more vague. He had an inspiration. 'I'll take you homenow. '

'I'm not going home. I've promised to go to Sales Hall. '

'Sales Hall--oh, yes, he's the man who talks at concerts--when hegoes. I know him. Have you ever wanted to murder anyone? I've wantedto murder him. I might some day. You'd better warn him. '

Was this another strand in the web of her drama, she wondered. WasAunt Rose involved in this too? She breathed quickly. 'Why, what hashe done to you?'

He ground his teeth, looking terrible but ineffectual. 'Stolen beauty. That's what his sort does. He kills lovely things that fly and run, for sport, and he steals beauty, spoils it. '

'Who?' she whispered. 

'That man Sales. '

'No, no. Who has he stolen and spoilt?'

'Heavenly music--and my happiness. I lost a bar--a whole bar, I tellyou. I'll never forgive him. I can't get it back. '

'If that's all--' Henrietta gestured. 

'And there are others, ' Charles went on. 'I never forget them. I meetthem in the streets and they look horrible--like beetles. ' 'I believeyou're mad, ' Henrietta said earnestly. 'It's not sense. '

'What is sense?' Henrietta could not tell him. She looked at him, alittle afraid, but excited by this proximity to danger. And I thoughtyou would understand. '

'Of course I do. ' She could not bear to let go of anything which mightdo her credit. 'I do. But you exaggerate. And Mr. Sales--' Shehesitated, and in doing so she remembered to be angry with CharlesBatty for maligning him. 'How can you judge Mr. Sales?' she asked withscorn. 'He is a man. ' 'And what am I?' Charles demanded. 

'You're--queer, ' she said. 

'Yes'--his face twisted curiously--'I suppose if I shot things andchased them, you'd like me better. But I can't--not even for that, butperhaps, some day--' He seemed to lose himself in the vagueness of histhoughts. 

She finished his sentence gaily, for after all, it was absurd toquarrel with him. 'Some day we'll go to a concert. '

He recovered himself. 'More than that, ' he said. He nodded his headwith unexpected vigour. 'You'll see. '

She gazed at him. It was wonderful to think of all the things thatmight happen to a person who was only twenty-one, but she hastilycorrected her thoughts. What could happen to her? In a few short daysevents had rushed together and exhausted themselves at their source!There was nothing left. She said good-bye to Charles and thought himfoolish not to offer to accompany her. She said, 'It's a very long wayto Sales Hall, ' and he answered, 'Oh, you'll meet that man somewhere, potting at rabbits. '

'Do you think so? I hope he won't shoot me. ' And she saw herselfstretched on the ground, wounded, dying, with just enough force toutter words he could never forget--words that would change his wholelife. She was willing to sacrifice herself and she said good-bye toCharles again, and sorrowfully, as though she were already dead. Shetried to plan her dying words, but as she could not hit onsatisfactory ones, she contented herself with deciding that whethershe were wounded or not, she would try to introduce the subject ofAunt Rose; and as she went she looked out hopefully for a tall figurewith a gun under its arm. 

She met it, but without a gun, on the track where, on one side, thetrees stood in fresh green, like banners, and on the other the meadowssloped roughly to the distant water. He had been watching for her, hesaid, and suddenly over her assurance there swept a wave ofembarrassment, of shyness. She was alone with him and he was not likeCharles Batty. He looked down at her with amusement in his blue, thick-lashed eyes, and it was difficult to believe that here was thehero, or the villain, of the piece. She felt the sensation she hadknown when he handed her the orchid, and she blushed absurdly when heactually said, as though he read her thoughts, 'No orchids to-day?'

'No. ' She laughed up at him. 'That was a special treat. I didn't seeMr. Batty this afternoon, and he couldn't afford to give them awayevery Sunday. '

'Do you go there every Sunday?' 'Yes; they're very kind. '

'They would be. '

This reminded her a little of Mr. Jenkins, though she cast the ideafrom her quickly. Mr. Jenkins was not worthy of sharing a moment'sthought with Francis Sales; his collar was made of rubber, his accentwas grotesque; but the influence of the boarding-house was still onher when she asked very innocently, 'Why?'

'Oh, I needn't tell you that. '

It was Mr. Jenkins again, but in a voice that was soft, almostcaressing. Did Mr. Sales talk like this to Aunt Rose? She could notbelieve it and she was both flattered and distressed. She must asserther dignity and she had no way of doing it but by an expression offirmness, a slight tightening of lips that wanted to twitch into asmile. 

'Mr. Charles Batty, ' the voice went on, 'seems to have missed hisopportunities, but I have always suspected him of idiocy. '

'I don't know what you mean, ' she said untruthfully, and then, loyally, she protested. 'But he's not an idiot. He's very clever, tooclever, not like other people. '

'Well, there are different names for that sort of thing, ' he saideasily, and she was aware of an immense distance between her and him--he seemed to have put her from him with a light push--and at the sametime she was oppressively conscious of his nearness. She felt angry, and she burst out, 'I won't have you speaking like that aboutCharles. '

'Certainly not, if he's a friend of yours. '

'And I won't have you laughing at me. '

He stopped in his long stride. 'Don't you laugh yourself at the thingsthat please you very much?'

'Oh, don't!' she begged. He was too much for her; she was helpless, asthough she had been drugged to a point when she could move and think, but only through a mist, and she felt that his ease, approachingimpudence, was as indecent as Aunt Rose's calm. It was both irritatingand pleasing to know that she could have shattered both with the wordshe was incapable of saying, but her nearest approach to that was aninquiry after the health of Mrs. Sales. He replied that she waslooking forward to Henrietta's visit. She had very few pleasures andwas always glad to see people. 

'Aunt Rose'--here was an opportunity--'comes, doesn't she, everyweek?'

He said he believed so. 

'Did you know her when she was a little girl?'

He gave a discouraging affirmative. 

'What was she like?'

'I don't know. ' He had, indeed, forgotten. 

'Well, you must remember her when she was young. '

'Young?'

Henrietta nodded bravely though he seemed to smoulder. 'As young as Iam. '

'She was exactly the same as she is now. No, not quite. '

'Nicer?'

'Nicer? What a word! Nice!' He looked all round him and made aflourish with his stick. He could not express himself, yet he seemedunable to be silent. 'Do you call the sky nice?'

'Yes, very, when it's blue. '

He gave, to her great satisfaction, the kind of laugh she hadexpected. 'Let us talk about something a little smaller than the sky, 'he said. He looked down at her, and she was relieved to see the angerfading from his face; but she was glad to have learnt something ofwhat he felt for Aunt Rose. To him she was like the sky whence camethe rain and the sunshine, where the stars shone and the moon, and shewondered to what he would have compared herself. 'You said we might besisters. '

He looked again. She wore a broad white hat in honour of the season, her black dress was dotted with white; from one capable white hand sheswung her gloves; she tilted her chin, a trick she had inherited fromher father, in a sort of challenge. 

'You like the idea?' he asked. 

'I don't believe it. I'm really the image of my father. Did you knowhim?'

'No. Heard of him, of course. '

'It's him I'm like, ' Henrietta repeated firmly. 

'Then the story of his good looks must be true. '

Mixed with her pleasure, she had a return of disappointment. Herewas Mr. Jenkins once more, and while it was sad to discover hisre-incarnation in her ideal, it was thrilling to resume the kind offencing she thought she had resigned. She forgot her virtuousresolves, and the remainder of the walk was enlivened by the hope of athrust which she would have to parry, but none came. Francis Salesseemed to have exhausted his efforts, and at the door he said with asort of sulkiness, 'I think you had better go up alone. You must letme see you home. '

This was not her first solitary visit to Christabel Sales, and shehalf dreaded, half enjoyed meeting the glances of those wide blueeyes, which were searching behind their innocence and hearing remarkswhich, though dropped carelessly, always gave her the impression ofbeing tipped with steel. She was bewildered, troubled by her sensethat she and Christabel were allies and yet antagonists, and herjealousy of her Aunt Rose fought with her unwilling loyalty to one ofher own blood. There were moments when she acquiesced in thesuggestions offered in the form of admiration, and others when shestiffened with distaste, with a realization that she herself wasliable to attack, with horror for the beautiful luxurious room, thecrippled woman, the listening cat. Henrietta sometimes saw herself asa mouse, in mortal danger of a feline spring, and then pity forChristabel would overcome this weariness; she would talk to her withwhat skill she had for entertainment, and she emerged exhausted, asthough from a fight. 

This evening she was amazed to be received without any greeting, but aquestion: 'Has Rose Mallett told you why I am here?' Christabel waslying very low on her couch. Her lips hardly moved; these might havebeen the last words she would ever utter. 

'Yes, a hunting accident. And you told me about it yourself. '

There was a silence, and then the voice, its sharpness dulled, saidslowly, 'Yes, I told you what I remembered and what I heardafterwards. A hunting accident! It sounds so simple. That's what theycall it. Names are useful. We couldn't get on without them. I get suchqueer ideas, lying here, with nothing to do. Before I was married Inever thought at all. I was too happy. ' She seemed to be lost inmemory of that time. Henrietta sat very still; she breathed carefullyas though a brusqueness would be fatal, and the voice began again. 'They call you Henrietta. It's only a name, but it doesn't describeyou; nobody knows what it means except you, but it's convenient. It'sthe same with my hunting accident. Do you see?'

Henrietta said nothing. She had that familiar feeling of being in thedark, and now the evening shadows augmented it. She was conscious ofthe cat behind her, on the hearthrug. 

'Do you see?' Christabel persisted. 

'Things have to be called something, ' Henrietta said. 

'That's just what I have been telling you. And so Rose Mallett callsit a hunting accident. ' A high-pitched and thin laugh came from thepillows. 'She was terribly distressed about it. And she actually toldme she had suspected that mare from the first. She told me! It'sfunny--don't you think so?'

'No, ' Henrietta said stoutly, 'not funny at all. ' She spoke in a veryfirm and reasonable voice, as though only her common sense couldcombat what seemed like insanity in the other. 'I think it's verysad. '

'For me? Oh, yes, but I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking ofyour charming aunt, the most beautiful woman in Radstowe. That's whatI have heard her called. Yet why hasn't she married? Can't she findanybody'--the voice was gentle--'to love her? She suspected that marebut she warned nobody. Funny--'

Henrietta had a physical inward trembling. She felt a dreadful rageagainst the woman on the couch, a sickening disgust, such as she wouldhave felt at looking down a dark, deep well and seeing slime and blindugliness at the bottom. She felt as though her ears were dirty; shetried to move, but she sat perfectly still and, dreading what wouldcome next, she listened, fascinated. 

'Perhaps she is in love with somebody. Does she get many letters, Henrietta? She is very reserved, she doesn't tell me much; but, ofcourse, I'm interested in her. ' She laughed again. 'I am very anxiousfor her happiness. It would comfort me to know anything you can tellme. '

Henrietta managed to stand up. 'I know nothing, ' she said in aslightly broken voice. 'I don't want to know anything. '

Christabel interrupted smoothly. 'Perhaps you are wise or you couldn'tstay happily in that house. They're all like witches, those women. They frighten me. You must be very brave, Henrietta. '

'I'm very grateful, ' Henrietta said; 'and I shan't come here again, no, never. I don't know what you have been trying to tell me, but Idon't believe it. It's no good crying. I shall never come back. They're not witches. ' She had a vision of them at the dinner table, Rose like a white flower, Caroline and Sophia jewelled, gaily dressed, a little absurd, oddly distinguished. 'Witches! They are my father'ssisters, and I love them. '

'Ah, but you don't know Rose, ' Christabel sobbed. 'And don't say youwill never come again. And don't tell Francis. He would be angry. '

'How could I tell him?' Henrietta asked indignantly. 'No, no, I don'twant to see either of you again. I shall go away--go away--' She leftthe room to the sound of a horrible, faint weeping. 

She meant what she had said. She thought she would go away fromRadstowe and forget Christabel Sales, forget Francis Sales, whom shewould no longer pretend to love; forget those insinuations that AuntRose was guilty of a crime. This place and these people were abhorrentto her, she felt she had been poisoned and she rushed down the longavenue where, overhead, the rooks were calling, as though she couldonly be saved by the clean night air beyond the house. She wasshocked; she believed that Christabel was mad; the thought of thatwarm room where the cat listened, made her gasp, and her horrorextended to Francis Sales himself. The place felt wicked, but theclear road stretching before her, the pale evening sky and the soundof her own feet tapping the road restored her. 

She was glad to be alone and, avoiding the short cut, she enjoyed thesanity of the highway used by ordinary men and women in the decentpursuit of their lives. But now the road was empty and though atanother time she would have been afraid of the lonely country, to-nightshe had a sense of escape from greater perils than any lurking here. And before long it all seemed like a dream, but it was a dream thatmight recur if she ran the risk. 

No, she would never go there again, she would never envy Aunt Rose alover from that house, she would never believe that the worst ofChristabel's implications were true. They were the fabrications of asuspicious woman, and though her jealousy might be justified, itseemed to Henrietta that she deserved her fate. She was hateful, shewas poisonous, and Henrietta felt a sudden tenderness for Aunt Roseand Francis Sales. They could not help themselves, for they wereunfortunate, she longed to show them sympathy and she saw herselftaking them by the hand and saying gently, 'Confide in me. Iunderstand. ' She imagined Aunt Rose melting at that touch and thosewords into tears, perhaps of repentance, certainly of gratitude, butat this point Henrietta's fancies were interrupted by the sound offootsteps behind her. She quickened her pace, then began to run, andthe steps followed, gaining on her. She could not outrun them and shestopped, turning to see who came. 

'Miss Mallett!' It was the voice of Francis Sales. She sank down on aheap of stones, panting and laughing. He sat beside her. 'What's thematter?'

'I don't know. I hate to hear anybody coming behind me. It might havebeen a tramp. I'm very much afraid of tramps. '

'I said I would see you home. '

'Yes, I forgot. Let us go on. '

'You didn't stay long. '

'I don't think Mrs. Sales is very well. '

'She isn't. She gets hysterical and that affects her heart. I thoughtyou would do her good. ' He seemed to blame Henrietta. 'And I thought awalk with you would do me good, too. I have a pretty dull life. '

'Aren't you interested in your cows and things?'

'A man can't live on cows. '

'But you have other things and you live in the country. People can'thave everything. I don't suppose you'd change with anybody really, ifyou could. People are like that. They grumble, but they like beingthemselves. Suppose you were a young man in a shop, measuring cloth orselling bacon. You'd find that much duller, I should think. '

He laughed a little. 'Where did you learn this wisdom?'

'I've had experience, ' she said staidly. 'Yes, you'd find it duller. '

'Perhaps you're right. But then, you might come to buy the bacon. Ishould look forward to that. '

In the darkness, these playful words frightened her a little; theyhurt her sense of what was fitting from him to her and at the sametime they pleased her with their hint of danger. 

'Would you?' she asked slowly. 

He paused, saying, 'May I light a pipe?' and by the flame of the matchhe examined her face quite openly for a moment. 'You know I would, ' hesaid. 

She met his look, her eyes wavered and neither spoke for a long time. She was oppressed by his nearness, the smell of his tobacco, her owninexplicable delight. From the trees by the roadside birds gave outhappy chirrups, country people in their Sunday clothes and creakingboots passed or overtook the silent pair; a man on a horse rode outfrom a gate and cantered with very little noise on the rough grassedging the road. Henrietta watched him until he disappeared and thenit seemed as if he had never been there at all. A sheep in a fielduttered a sad cry and every sight and sound seemed a little unreal, like things happening on a stage. 

And gradually Henrietta's excitement left her. The world seemed a sadand lonely place; she remembered that she herself was lonely; therewas no one now to whom she was the first, and she had a longing forher mother. She wished that instead of returning to Nelson Lodge withits cleanliness and richness and comfort, she might turn the key ofthe boarding-house door and find herself in the narrow passage withthe smell of cooking and the gas turned low; she wished she could runup the stairs and rush into the drawing-room and find her mothersitting there, sewing by the fire, and see her look up and hear hersay, 'Well, Henry dear, what have you been doing?' After all, that oldlife was better than this new one. The troubles of her mother, her ownyoung struggles for food and warmth, the woes of Mrs. Banks, had inthem something nobler than she could find in the distresses ofChristabel and Aunt Rose and Francis Sales, something redeeming themfrom the sordidness in which they were set. She checked a sob. 

'It's a long way, ' she sighed. 

'Are you tired?' His voice was gentle. 

'Yes, dreadfully. '

'Then let us sit down again. '

'No, I must go on. I must get back. '

'If you would talk to me, you wouldn't notice the distance. '

'I don't want to talk. I'm thinking. When we get to the bridge you cango back, can't you? There will be lights and I shall be quite safe. '

'Very well, but I wish you'd tell me what's the matter. '

'I'm very unhappy, ' Henrietta said with a sob. 

'What on earth for? Look here, '--he touched her arm--'did Christabelsay anything?'

'I don't know why it is. '

'Are you going to cry?'

'It's no good crying. '

He held the arm now quite firmly and they faced each other. 'You'dbetter tell me the whole story. '

Her lips quivered. She wished he would loosen his grip and hoped hewould go on holding her for ever. It was a moment of mingled ecstasyand sadness. 'Oh, ' she almost wailed, 'can't I be unhappy if I wantto?'

He gave a short laugh, saying, 'Poor little girl, ' and stooping, kissed her on the mouth. She endured that kiss willingly for a momentand then, very lightly, struck him in the face. 

§ 6

Afterwards there was some satisfaction in thinking that she had donethe dramatic thing--what the pure-minded heroine always did to thevillain; but at the time the action was spontaneous and unconsidered. Henrietta was not really avenging an insult: she was simply expressingher annoyance at her pleasure in it. Being, when she chose, a clear-sighted young woman, she realized this, but she also knew that FrancisSales would find the obvious meaning in the blow. For herself, shesanely determined to blot that episode from her mind: it was maddeningto think of it as an insult and dangerous to remember its delight, andshe was able calmly to tell her aunts that Mr. Sales had seen herhome. 

'Then why didn't he come in?' Caroline asked with a grunt. 'Leavingyou on the doorstep like a housemaid!'

'He only came as far as the bridge. '

'My dear child! What was he thinking of? Men are not what they were, or is it the women who are different? They haven't the charm! Theyhaven't the old charm! My difficulty was always to get rid of thecreatures. I'm disappointed in you, Henrietta. '

'But he's married, ' Henrietta said gravely. 'I only needed him on thedark roads and I should think he wanted to go back to Mrs. Sales. '

'It would be the first time, then, ' Caroline said. 

'Why, isn't he fond of her?'

'Don't ask dangerous questions, child--and would you be fond of heryourself?'

'She's very pretty. '

'Now, Caroline, don't, ' Sophia begged. 

Caroline chuckled. 'Don't what?'

'Say what you were going to say. '

Caroline chuckled again. 'I can't help it. My tongue won't be tied. I'm like all the Malletts--'

'But not before the child. '

'You're a prude, Sophia, and if Henrietta imagines that a man likeFrancis Sales, any man worth his salt--besides, Henrietta has knockedabout the world. She is no more innocent than she looks. '

'She doesn't mean half she says, ' Sophia whispered. 

'And neither is Francis Sales, ' Caroline persisted. 'Ridiculous! Darkroads, indeed! I don't think I care for your wandering about at night, Henrietta. '

'I won't do it again, ' Henrietta said meekly. 

'Sophia and I--' Caroline began one of her reminiscences, to whichneither Sophia nor Henrietta listened. To the one, they were familiarin their exaggeration, and the other had her own thoughts, which werebewilderingly confused. 

She had meant to stand between Francis Sales and Aunt Rose; later shehad wished to help them, now she did not know whether she wanted tohelp or hinder. The thing was too much for her, but she wondered ifAunt Rose had ever experienced such a kiss. Meeting her a few minuteslater on the stairs, with her slim hand on the polished rail, abeautiful satin-shod foot gleaming below the lace of her dress, sheseemed a being too ethereal for a salute so earthly, and because shelooked so lovely, because Christabel had been unjust, Henrietta forgotto feel unfriendly. 

Rose said unexpectedly, 'Oh, Henrietta, I am glad you have come back. You seem to have been away for a long time. '

'I went to the Battys' to tea and then to Sales Hall. I promised Mrs. Sales. Do you mind?'

'Of course not; but I missed you. '

'Oh! Oh! I never thought of that. '

'I always miss you, ' Rose said gravely. 'You have made a greatdifference to us all. '

Henrietta's mouth opened with astonishment. 'I had no idea. And I donothing but enjoy myself. '

Rose laughed. 'That's what we want you to do. You must be as happy asyou can. '

This, from Aunt Rose, was the most wonderful thing that had happenedyet. Henrietta was overcome by astonishment and gratitude. 'I had noidea. I never dreamt of your liking me. I thought you just put up withme. '

'You haven't given me much chance, ' Rose said in a low voice, 'ofdoing anything else. '

It was true: Henrietta could not flourish when she thought herselfunappreciated, but now she expanded like a flower blossoming in anight. 

'Oh, if we could be friends! There's nobody to talk to except CharlesBatty, and I hated, I simply hated being at Sales Hall to-night. ' Shetightened her lips and opened them to say, 'I shan't go there again. Isaid so. She is a terrible woman. '

'She has a great deal to bear. '

'Yes, and she counts on your remembering that, ' Henrietta saidacutely. 

'What was the matter to-night?'

'Hints, ' Henrietta whispered. 'Hints, ' and she added nervously, 'aboutyou. '

Rose made a slight movement. 'Don't tell me. '

'And the cat. I ran away. She was crying, but I didn't care. I ran alldown the avenue on to the road. Mr. Sales had said he would take mehome, but I didn't wait. It was much better under the sky. Then Iheard footsteps, and it was Mr. Sales running after me. ' She paused. Two stairs above her, Aunt Rose stood, listening with attention. Shewas, as usual, all black and white; her neck, rising from the blacklace, looked like a bowl of cream laid out of doors to cool in thenight. 

'He kissed me, ' Henrietta said abruptly. 

Rose did not move, and before she spoke Henrietta had time to wonderwhat had prompted her to that confession. She had not thought aboutit, the words had simply issued of themselves. 

'Kissed you?'

'Yes, ' Henrietta said, and suddenly she wanted to make it easier forAunt Rose. 'I think he was sorry for me. I told him I was unhappy, butI couldn't tell him why, I couldn't say it was his wife. I think hemeant it kindly. '

'I am sure he did, ' Rose said with admirable self-possession. 'Youlook very young in that big hat, you are very young, and perhaps heguessed what you had been through. Don't think about it any more. '

'No. ' Henrietta seemed to have no control over her tongue. 'But then, you see, I hit him. '

Rose managed a laugh. 'Oh, Henrietta, how primitive!'

'Yes, ' Henrietta agreed, but she knew she had betrayed Francis Sales. She knew and Rose knew that she would not have struck him if the kisshad been paternal. 'I suppose it was vulgar, ' she murmured sadly, yetnot without some skill. 

Rose descended the two stairs without a word and went to the bottom ofthe flight, but there she paused, saying, 'Take off your things andlet us have some music. '

Henrietta was learning to sing, and in defiance of Charles Batty'sprophecy, she neither squeaked nor gurgled. She piped with a prettysimplicity and with an enjoyment which made her forget herself. Yetshe looked charming, standing in the candle-light beside the shininggrand piano on which Aunt Rose accompanied her, and to-night she feltthey were united in more than the music: they were friends, they werefellow-sufferers, and long after Henrietta had tired of singing, Rosewent on playing, mournfully, as it seemed to Henrietta, consolingherself with sweet sounds. Sophia sat before her embroidery frame, slowly pushing her needle in and out; Caroline read a novel withavidity and an occasional pause for chuckles, and when Rose at lengthdropped her hands on her knees and remained motionless, staring at thekeys, Henrietta startled her aunts by saying firmly, 'I am just goingto enjoy life. '

Rose raised her head and her enigmatic smile widened a little. Caroline exclaimed, 'Good gracious! Why not?' Sophia said gently, 'That is what we wish. '

Henrietta stiffened herself for questions which did not come. Nobodyexpressed a desire to know what had caused this solemn declaration:Caroline went on reading, Sophia embroidering; Rose retired to bed. 

Henrietta was not daunted by this indifference. She persisted in herdetermination; she cast off all thoughts of ministering like an angel, or revenging like a demon; she enjoyed the gaieties with which theyouth of Radstowe amused itself during the summer months; sheaccompanied her aunts to garden parties, ate ices, had her fortunetold in tents, flirted mildly and endured Charles Batty's peculiarhalf-apprehensive tyranny. 

Nothing went amiss with Charles but what he seemed to blame her forit, and while she resented this strange form of attention, she had acompensating conviction that he was really paying tribute and she knewthat the absence of his complaints would have left a blank. Fixing herwith his pale eyes, he described the bitterness of life in hisfather's office, his mismanagement of clients, his father's sneers, his mother's sighs; his sufferings in not being allowed to go toGermany and study music. 

'If I were a man, ' Henrietta said, voicing a pathetic faith inmasculine ability to break bonds, 'I would do what I liked. I'd go toGermany and starve and be happy. A man can do and get anything hereally wants. '

'Ah, I shall remember that, ' he said. 'But I can't go to Germany now, 'he added darkly, and when she asked him for a reason, he groaned. 'Even you--even you don't understand me. '

In this respect she understood him perfectly well, but she did notwish to clear the mysterious gloom, not devoid of excitement, in whichthey moved together; and they parted for the summer holidays, miserably on his part, cheerfully on hers. She was going to Scotlandwith Aunt Rose and the prospect was so delightful that she did nottrouble to inquire about his movements. 

She was surprised and almost disappointed that he did not reproach herfor this thoughtlessness when, on her return, she went to call on Mrs. Batty and hear about her annual holiday at Bournemouth. Mrs. Batty hadsuffered very much from the heat, Mr. Batty had suffered fromdyspepsia, and they were glad to be at home again, though it was tofind that John, without a hint to his parents, had engaged himself toa girl with tastes like his own. 

'But it's bull-dogs with her, instead of terriers, ' Mrs. Batty sighed. 'She brings them here and they slobber on the carpets--dirty things. And golf. But she's a nice girl, and they go out before breakfast withthe dogs and have a game--but I did hope he would look elsewhere, dear. ' She gazed sentimentally at Henrietta. 'I don't feel she willever be a daughter to me. Of course, I kissed her and all that when Iheard the news, but now she just comes in and says, "Hullo, Mrs. Batty! Where's John?" And that's all. I do like affection. She'll kissthe bull-dogs, though, ' Mrs. Batty added grimly; 'but whether she everkisses John, I can't say. And as for Charles, he never looks at agirl, so I'm as badly off as ever. Worse, for Charles, really Charleshasn't a word to throw at me. He comes down to breakfast and you'dthink the bacon had upset him, and it's the best I can get. And hisfather sits reading the paper and lifting his eyebrows over the edgeat Charles. He's very cool, Mr. Batty is. Half the time, John comes inlate for breakfast, after his game, you know, and then he's in toomuch of a hurry to talk. They might all be dumb. With Charles it's allthat piano business. I tell him I wish he'd go to Germany and be donewith it, though I never think musicians are respectable, with all thathair. Anyhow, Charles is getting bald, and he says he's too old tostart afresh. And then he glares at his father. It's all veryunpleasant. Still, he's a good boy really. They're both good boys. I've a lot to be thankful for; and, my dear, '--her voice sank, and shelaid a plump hand on Henrietta's--'Mr. Batty says we may give a ballafter Christmas. Everybody in Radstowe. We shall take the AssemblyRooms. The date isn't fixed, and now and then, if he isn't feelingwell, Mr. Batty says he can't afford it. But that's nonsense, we shallhave it; but don't say a word. I've told nobody else, but somehow, Henrietta, I always want to tell you everything, as if you were mydaughter. ' Mrs. Batty sighed heavily. 'If only Charles weredifferent!'

However, Charles surprised his mother that evening by walking to thegate with Henrietta. Arrived there, he announced firmly that he wouldtake her home. 

'I'm going for a walk, ' Henrietta said. 

'Oh, a walk. Well, all right. Where shall we go? I know, I will takeyou where you've never been before. '

It was October and already the lamps were lighted in the streets; theystudded the bridge like fairy lanterns for a fairy path to that worldof woods and stealthy lanes and open country where the wind rustledthe gorse bushes on the other side. Below, at the water's edge, morelamps stood like sentinels, here and there, straight and lonely, fulfilling their task, and as Charles and Henrietta watched, theterraces of Radstowe became illuminated by an unseen hand. Overeverything there was a suggestion of enchantment: lovers, strollingby, were romantic in their silence; a faint hoot from some steamer waslike a laugh. 

'It will be dark over there, won't it?' Henrietta asked. 

'Frightfully. We'll cut across the fields. '

'Not to Sales Hall?'

'Sales Hall? What for? To see that miserable fellow? We're not goingnear Sales Hall. '

She breathed a word. 

'What did you say?' he asked. 

'Cows, ' she breathed again. 

'Perhaps. '

'But in the winter, ' she said hopefully, 'I should think they shutthem up at night, poor things. '

'Not cold enough yet for that. '

'I'm afraid of them, you know. '

'Domestic animals, ' he said calmly. 

'Horns, ' she whispered. 

They said no more. Their path edged those woods which in their turnedged the gorge; but here and there the trees spread themselves morefreely and, through the darkness, Henrietta had glimpses of furtivelittle paths, of dips and hollows. A small pool, thick with earlyfallen leaves, had hardly a foot of gleaming surface with which togaze like an unwinking eye at the emerging stars. But this skirting ofthe wood came to an end and there stretched before their feet, whichmade the only sound in the quiet night, a broad white road where thearched gateway of a distant house looked like the fragment of atemple. 

'I like this, ' Henrietta said; 'I feel safe. '

'Not for long, ' Charles replied sternly. He opened a gate and througha little coppice they reached a fence. 'You'll have to climb it. ' Thebroad fields on the other side were as dark as water and as still. Itwas surprising, when she jumped down, to find she did not sink, tofind that she and Charles could walk steadily on this blackness, cuthere and there by the deeper blackness of a hedge. There were no cows, but sheep stumbled up and bleated at their approach, and for some timethe tinkling of the bell-wether's bell accompanied them like music. 

'There's a stile here, ' Charles said, and from this they plunged intoanother wood where birds fluttered and twittered and, in theundergrowth, there were small stealthy sounds. 

'I wouldn't come here alone, ' Henrietta said, 'for all the world. '

Charles said nothing. Mrs. Batty was right: it was like walking with adumb man. They left the wood and walked downhill beside a ploughedfield, and in the shelter of a high wall. An open lane brought them toa gate, the gate opened on a rough road through yet another wood oflarch and spruce and fir. The road was deeply rutted and they walkedin single file until Charles turned, saying, 'This is what I'vebrought you to see. This is "The Monks' Pool. "'

A large pond, almost round and strewn with dead leaves about its edge, lay sombrely on their right hand, without a movement, without a gleam. It was like a pall covering something secret, something which mustnever be revealed, and opposite, where the ground rose steeply, tallfirs stood up, guardians of the unknown. Faint quackings came fromsome unseen ducks among the willows and water gurgled at the invisibleoutlet of the pond; there were little stirrings and sighings among thetrees. The protruding roots of an oak offered a seat to Henrietta, andbehind her Charles leaned against the trunk. 

It was comfortable to have him there, to be able to look at this darkbeauty without fear, and as she sat there she heard an ever-increasingnumber of little sounds; they were caused by she knew not what: smallcreatures moving among the pine needles, night birds on the watch forprey, water rats, the flop of fish, the fall of some leaf over-ripe onthe tree, her own slow breathing, the muffled ticking of her heart;and into this orchestra of tiny instruments there came slowly, and asif it grew out of all these, another sound. 

It was the voice of Charles, and it was so much a part of this rareexperience, it seemed so right a complement, that at first she did notlisten to the sense of what he said. The words had no clearer meaningthan had the other voices of the night; the whole thing was wonderful--the tall, immobile trees, the small, secret sounds, the black lakelike an immense, mysterious pall, the steady booming of the voice, hadthe effect of magic. 

This was essential beauty revealed to her ears and eyes, but graduallythe words formed themselves into sentences and were carried to herbrain. She understood that Charles was talking of himself, of her, with an eloquence born of long-considered thoughts. He was telling herhow she appeared to him as a being of light and sweetness andnecessity; he was telling her how he loved her; he was asking fornothing, but he was saying amazing things in language worthy of histhoughts of her. 

That muffled ticking of her heart went on like distant drum beats, thesymphony of tiny instruments did not pause, the dominant sound ofCharles's voice continued, and now, as she listened, she heard nothingbut his voice. He was not pathetic, he did not plead, he did notclaim: he spoke of very old and lasting things, and it was likehearing some one read a tale. She did not stir. She forgot that thiswas Charles; it was a simple heart become articulate. And thensuddenly the voice stopped and the orchestra, as though in relief, intriumph, seemed to play more loudly. A water rat dived again, a duckquacked sleepily and a branch of a tree creaked mournfully under alost puff of wind. 

Henrietta turned her head and saw Charles Batty standing motionlessagainst the tree. His hat was tilted a little to one side and his eyeswere staring straight before him. Even the darkness was not entirelykind to him, but that did not matter. She wondered if he knew what hehad been saying; she could not remember it all, but it would comeback. As they went home over the dark fields, she would remember it. It seemed to have everything and yet nothing to do with her; it waslike poetry that, without embarrassment, profoundly moves the hearer, and his very voice had developed the dignity of his theme. 

He did not speak again. In complete silence they retraced their stepsand at the gate of Nelson Lodge he left her. In the little high-walledgarden she stood still. This had been a wonderful experience. She feltuplifted, better than herself, yet she could not resist speculating onher probable feelings if another than Charles Batty, if, for instance, Francis Sales, had poured that rhapsody into the night. 

Book III: Rose and Henrietta

§ 1

Early one October afternoon, Rose Mallett rode to Sales Hall. She wentthrough a world of brown and gold and blue, but she was hardlyconscious of beauty, and the air, which was soft, yet keen, andexciting to her horse, had no inspiriting effect on her. She felt old, incased in a sort of mental weariness which was like armour againstemotion. She knew that the spirit of the country, at once gentle andwild, furtive and bold, was trying to reach her in every scent andsound: in the smell of earth, of fruit, of burning wood; in the noiseof her horse's feet as he cantered on the grassy side of the road, inthe fall of a leaf, the call of a bird or a human voice becomesignificant in distance; but she remained unmoved. 

This was, she thought, like being dead yet conscious of all thathappened, but the dead have the excuse of death and she had none; shewas merely tired of her mode of life. It seemed to her that in herthirty-one years the sum of her achievement was looking beautiful andbeing loved by Francis Sales: she put it in that way, but immediatelycorrected herself unwillingly. Her attitude towards him had not beenpassive; she had loved him. She had owed him love and she had paid herdebt; she had paid enough, yet if to-day he asked for more, she wouldgive it. Her pride hoped for that demand; her weariness shrank fromit. 

And he had kissed Henrietta. The sharpness of that thought, on whichfrom the first moment on the stairs she had refused to dwell, steelingher mind against it with a determination which perhaps accounted forher fatigue, was like a physical pain running through her whole body, so that the horse, feeling an unaccustomed jerk on his mouth, becamealarmed and restive. She steadied him and herself. A kiss was nothing--yet she had always denied it to Francis Sales. She could not blamehim, for she saw how her own fastidiousness had endangered his. Heneeded material evidence of love. She ought, she supposed, to havesacrificed her scruples for his sake; mentally she had already doneit, and the physical refusal was perhaps no more than pride whichsalved her conscience and might ruin his, but it existed firmly like afortress. She could not surrender it. Her love was not great enoughfor that; or was it, she asked herself, too great? She could notcomfort herself with that illusion, and there came creeping thethought that for some one else, some one too strong to need such acapitulation, she would have given it gladly, but against Francis, whowas intrinsically weak, she had held out. 

Life seemed to mock at her; it offered the wrong opportunities, itstrewed her path with chances of which no human being could judge thevalue until the choice had been made; it was like walking over groundpitted with hidden holes, it needed luck as well as skill to avoid afall. But, like other people, she had to pursue her road: the thingwas to hide her bruises, even from herself, and shake off the dust. 

She had by this time reached the track which was connected with somuch of her life, and she drew rein in astonishment. They were fellingthe trees. Already a space had been cleared and men and horses werebusy removing the fallen trunks; piles of branches, still bravelygreen, lay here and there, and the pine needles of the past were nowoverlaid by chippings from the parent trees. What had been a stillplace of shadows, of muffled sounds, of solemn aisles, the scene of asecret life not revealed to men, was now half devastated, trampled, and loud with human noises. It had its own beauty of colour andactivity, there was even a new splendour in the unencumbered ground, but Rose had a sense of loss and sacrilege. Something had gone. Itstruck her that here she was reminded of herself. Something had gone. The larch trees which had flamed in green for her each spring weredead and she had this strange dead feeling in her heart. 

She saw the figure of Francis Sales detach itself from a little groupand advance towards her. She knew what he would say. He would tellher, in that sulky way of his, how many weeks had passed since he hadseen her and, to avoid hearing that remark, she at once waved a handtowards the clearing and said, 'Why have you done this?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'To get money. '

'But they were my trees. '

'You never wrote, ' he muttered. 

She made a gesture, quickly controlled. Long ago when, in the firstexultation of their love and their sense of richness, they had markedout the limits of their intercourse, so that they might keep some sortof faith with Christabel and preserve what was precious to themselves, it had been decided that they were not to meet by appointment, theywere not to speak of love, no letters were to be exchanged, and thoughtime had bent the first and second rules, the last had been kept withrigour. It was understood, but periodically she had to submit toFrancis Sales's complaint, 'You never wrote. '

'So you cut down the trees, ' she said half playfully. 

'Why didn't you write?'

'Oh, Francis, you know quite well. '

He was looking at the ground; he had not once looked at her since hergreeting. 'You go off on a holiday, enjoying yourself, while I--whodid you go with?'

'With Henrietta, ' Rose said softly. 

'Oh, that girl. '

'Yes, that girl. But here I am. I have come back. ' She seemed toinvite him to be glad. 'And, ' she went on calmly, feeling that it didnot matter what she said, 'what a queer world to come back to. I missthe trees. They stood for my childhood and my youth; yes, they stoodfor it, so straight--I must go on. Christabel is expecting me. '

'She didn't tell me. '

'No?' Rose questioned without surprise. 'I suppose I shall see you attea?' she said. 

He nodded and she touched her horse. Something had happened to him aswell as to her and a mass of pain lodged itself in her breast. He wasdifferent, and as though he had suspected the weary quality of herlove he had met her with the same kind, or perhaps with none at all. Alittle while ago she was half longing for release from this endlessnecessity of controlling herself and him; from the shifts, therefusals and the reproaches which had gradually become the chief partof their intercourse; and now he had dared to seem indifferent, thoughhe had not forgotten to reproach! She could almost feel the healthypallor of her face change to a sickly white; her anger chilled andthen stiffened her into a rigidity of body and mind and when shedismounted she slid down heavily, like a figure made of wood. 

The man who took her horse looked at her curiously. Miss Mallettalways had a pleasant word for him and, conscious of his stare, sheforced a smile. She had not ridden for weeks, she told him; she wastired. He was amused at that. She had been born in the saddle; heremembered her as a little girl on a Shetland pony and he did notbelieve she could ever tire. 'Must be something wrong somewhere, ' hesaid, examining girth and pommels. 

'It's old age coming on, ' Rose said gravely. 

He thought that a great joke. He was twice her age already andconsidered himself in his prime. He led the horse away and Rose wentinto the house. 

How extraordinarily limited her life had been! It had passed almostentirely in this house and Nelson Lodge and on the road between thetwo. Of all her experiences the only ones that mattered had beensuffered here, and they had all been of one kind. Even Henrietta'sfewer years had been more varied. She had known poverty and beencompelled to the practical application of her wits, she had baffledMr. Jenkins, she had been kissed by Francis Sales. 

Rose stood for a moment in the hall and looked for the mirror whichwas not there. She did not wish to give Christabel Sales thesatisfaction of seeing her look distraught, but a peep in the glass ofone of the sporting prints reassured her. Her appearance almost madeher doubt the reality of the feelings which consisted of a great heatin the head and a deadly cold weight near her heart and which forcedthese triumphant words from her lips--'At least Henrietta has neverfelt like this. '

She entered Christabel's room calmly, smiling and prepared for news, but at the first sight of the invalid, lying very low in her bed andbarely turning her head at the sound of the opening door, she thoughtthat perhaps Christabel's weakness had at last overcome her enmity. 

'I'm very ill, ' she said faintly. 

'I'm sorry. '

'Oh, don't say that. You may as well tell the truth--to me. '

'Then I must say again that I am sorry. '

'I wonder why. '

To that Rose made no answer, and before Christabel spoke again she hadtime to notice that the cat had gone. She breathed more easily. Thecat had gone, the trees were going and Francis was going too. Suddenlyshe felt she did not care. The idea of an empty world was pleasant, but if Francis were really going, the cat might as well have stayed. 

'Tell me what you did in Scotland, ' Christabel said. 

'I showed Henrietta all the sights. '

'Oh, Henrietta--she's a horrid girl. She has stopped coming to seeme. '

'You made yourself so unpleasant. '

'Did she tell you that? Do you think she told Francis?'

'I know she didn't. '

'But I can't make out why she should tell you. '

'Henrietta and I are great friends. '

'How did you manage that?'

'I don't know, ' Rose said slowly. 'What has happened to the cat?'

'It's gone. It went out and never came back. '

'How queer. '

'Some one must have killed it. '

'I don't think so, ' Rose said thoughtfully. 'I think it decided to go. I'm sure it did. '

'What do you mean? What do you mean?' Christabel cried. 'Had yousomething to do with that, too?'

'Not that I know of. ' Rose laughed. She was tired of considering everyword before she uttered it. 

'With that too!' Christabel repeated a little wildly, and then in afirm voice she said, 'You've got to tell me. '

'But I don't know. You must make all inquiries of the cat. It was awise animal. It knew the time had come. '

'I think you're mad, ' Christabel said. 

'Animals are very strange, ' Rose went on easily, 'and rats leavesinking ships. '

A cry of terror came from Christabel. 'You mean I'm going to die!'

'No, no!' Rose became sane and reassuring. 'I never thought of that. It might have known it was going to die itself and an animal likes todie decently alone. It had been getting unhealthily fat. '

Christabel kept an exhausted silence, and Rose regretting her cruelty, aware of its futility, said gently, 'Shall I get you a kitten?'

'No, no kitten. They jump about. The old cat was so quiet. And I misshim. ' A tear rolled down either cheek. 'It has been so lonely. Everybody was away. '

'Well, we've all come back now, ' Rose said. 

'Yes, but that Henrietta--she's deserted me. '

'It was your own fault, Christabel. You horrified her. '

'It should have been you who did that. '

'Things don't always have the effect we hope for. You said too much. '

'Ah, but not half what I could have said. '

'Too much for Henrietta, anyhow. I don't think she will come again. '

Christabel smiled oddly and Rose knew that now she was to hear somenews. 'You can tell her, ' Christabel said, 'that I shan't say anythingto upset her. I shall say nothing about you--as she loves you so much. Does she love you? I dare say. You make people love you--for a littlewhile. ' Her voice lingered on those words. 'Yes, for a little while, but you don't keep love, Rose Mallett. No, you don't. I'm sorry foryou now. Tell Henrietta she needn't be afraid, because I'm sorry foryou. Yes, you and I are in the same boat, in the same deserted boat. 

If there were any rats they would run away. You said so yourself. '

'I said the cat had gone. '

'Then you knew?'

Rose shook her head. It was her turn to smile. She was prepared foranything Christabel might say, she was even anxious to hear it, butwhen Christabel spoke in a mysteriously gleeful manner, she haddifficulty in repressing a shudder. It was not, she told herself, thatshe suffered from the knowledge now imparted by Christabel with detailand with proofs, but her malice, her salacious curiosity were morethan Rose could bear. She felt that the whole affair, which at first, so long ago, had possessed a noble sadness, a secret beauty, thequality of a precious substance enclosed in a common vial, wasindecent and unclean. 

'So you see, ' Christabel said, 'you haven't kept him; you won't keepHenrietta. '

Rose said nothing. She was thinking of what she might have done andshe was glad she had not done it. 

'You don't seem to mind, ' Christabel said. 'Why don't you ask me whyI'm so sure?' She laughed. 'I ought to know how to find things out bythis time, and I know Francis, yes, better than you do. When I had myaccident--it wasn't worth it, was it?--I said to myself, 'Now he won'tbe faithful to me. ' When I knew I should have to lie here, I toldmyself that. And now you--' Her voice almost failed her. 'I supposeyou haven't been kind enough to him. '

'I think it's time I went, ' Rose said. 

'And you'll never come back?'

'Yes, if you want me. '

'I can say what I like to you. '

'You can, indeed, ' Rose murmured. 

'And tell Henrietta to come too. '

'No, I can't ask Henrietta. '

'I promise to be like a maiden aunt. Ah, but she has three already--she knows what they are. That won't attract her. I'll be like aninvalid in a Sunday School story-book. '

'I'll tell her of your promise, ' Rose said. 

There remained the task of having tea with Francis Sales and breakingthe bonds of which he had tired. She made it easy for him. That wasnecessary for her dignity, but beyond the desire for as muchseemliness as could be saved from the general ugliness of theirmistake, she had no feeling; yet she thought it would be good to be inthe open air, on horseback, free. If there had been anything stillowing, she had paid her debt with generosity. She gave him the chancehe wanted but did not know how to take, and she had to allow him toappear aggrieved. She was cruel: she was tired of him; she was, hesneered, too good for him. The words went on for some time, and ifsome of them were new, their manner was wearisomely familiar. She wasamazed at her own endurance, now and in the past, and at last shesaid, 'No, no, Francis. Say no more. This is too much fuss. Perhaps wehave both changed. '

'It was you who began it. '

'Was it? How can one tell?'

'You began it, ' he persisted. 'There was a time when you went white, like paper, when we met, and your eyes went black. Now I might be asheep in a field. '

She was standing up, ready to go. 'One gets used to things, ' she said. 

'I have never been used to you, ' he muttered, and she knew that, telling this truth, he also explained a good deal. 'I never should be. You're like nobody else--nobody. '

'But it is too much strain, ' she murmured slowly. 

'Yes--well, it is you who have said it. I had made up my mind--I'm notungrateful--I never intended to say a word. '

She smiled. This was the first remark which had really touched her. She found it so offensive that a smile was the only weapon with whichto meet it. 'I know that. '

'But mind, ' he almost shouted, 'there's nobody like you. '

'Yes, yes, I know that too. ' She turned to him with a silencingsternness. 'I tell you I know everything. '

§ 2

The old groom who held her horse nodded with satisfaction when hehelped her into the saddle. She had not lost her spring and hetightened her girths in a leisurely manner and arranged her skirt withthe care due to a fine rider and a lady who understood a horse, yetone who was always ready to ask an old man's advice. He had a greatadmiration for Miss Mallett and, conscious of it and ratherpathetically glad of it, she lingered for the pleasure of talking tosome one who seemed simple and untroubled. He had spent all his lifeon the Sales estate, and she wondered whether, though, like herself, of a limited outward experience, he also had known the passions oflove and disgust and shame. He was sixty-five, he told her, but asstrong as ever, and she envied him: to be sixty-five with the turmoilof life behind him, yet to be strong enough to enjoy the peace beforehim, was a good finale to existence. She was only thirty-one, but shewas strong too, and she felt as though she had come through a storm, battered and exhausted but whole and ready for the calm which alreadyhovered over her. She said, 'The young are always sorry for the old, but that is one of the many mistakes they make. I think it must be thebest time of all. '

'If you have them that cares for you, ' he answered. 

That was where her own happiness would break down. 

There were her stepsisters, who would probably die before herself;there was Henrietta, who would form ties of her own; and there was noone else. If she had had less faith in Francis Sales's love and, atthe same time, had been capable of pandering to it, she might have hadhis devotion for her old age, the devotion of a somewhat querulous anddull old man. Now she had not even that to hope for, and she was glad. She had always wanted the best of everything, and always, except inthe one fatal instance, refused what fell below her standard. She hadnot realized until now that Francis Sales had always been below it. She had at least tried to wrap their love in beauty, but that sort ofbeauty was not enough for him. It was her scruples, he said, which hadbeen his undoing, and there was truth in that, but she had to rememberthat when originally she had disappointed him, he had found comfortquickly in Christabel; when Christabel failed him he had returned toher; and now he had found consolation, if only of a temporary kind, insome one else. When would he seek yet another victim of his affectionand his griefs? He was, she thought scornfully, a man who neededwomen, yet she knew that if he had pleaded with her to-day, sayingthat in spite of everything he needed her, she would have listened. 

She admitted her responsibility, it would always be present to her, for she had that kind of conscientiousness, and having once helpedhim, she must always hold herself ready to do it again. The chainbinding them was not altogether broken, but she no longer felt itsweight. She had a lightness of spirit unknown for years; the anger, the jealous rage and the disgust had vanished with a completenesswhich made her doubt their short existence, and she began to makeplans for a new life. There was no reason now why she should notwander all over the world, yet, on the very doorstep of Nelson Lodge, she found a reason in the person of Henrietta--flushed and gay andjust returned from a tea party. She had enjoyed herself immensely, buther head ached a little. It had been all she could do to understandthe brilliant conversation. There had been present a budding poet anda woman painter and she had never heard people talk like that before. 

'I didn't speak at all, except to Charles, ' she said. 

'Oh, Charles was there?'

'Yes. I thought it safer not to talk but I looked as bright as Icould, and of course I asked for cakes and things. They all ate a lot. I was glad of that. But most of them still looked hungry at the end. And Charles has taken tickets for me for the concerts, next to him, ina special corner where you can sometimes hear the music through thewhispering of the audience. That's what he says!'

'But, Henrietta, I have taken tickets for you too. '

'Thank you, but perhaps they will take them back. '

'Henrietta, you really can't sit in a corner with Charles when I'm inanother part of the hall. '

'Can't I? Well, Charles will be very angry, but he'll have to put upwith it. If you explained to him, Aunt Rose, he'd understand. And I'dreally rather sit with you. I shall be able to look at people and if Icrackle my programme you won't glare. Of course, I shall try not to. Will you explain to him? And I did promise to go to a concert with himsome day. '

'Then you must. I'll tell him that, too. Are you afraid of him, Henrietta?'

'He shouts, ' Henrietta said, 'and I'm sorry for him. And I do like himvery much. I feel inclined to do things just to please him. '

'Don't let that carry you too far. '

'That's what I'm afraid of. Not him, exactly, but me. '

'I didn't suspect you of such tenderness. I shall have to look afteryou. '

'I wish you would. '

'And if you are feeling very kind some day, perhaps you will go andsee Christabel Sales. She has promised to behave herself. '

Henrietta's expression tightened. 'I don't want to go. It's a dreadfulplace. '

'I know, ' Rose said, and she added encouragingly, 'but the cat hasgone. '

They were standing together in the hall and against the white panelledwalls, the figure of Rose, in the austere riding habit, onegauntletted hand holding her crop, the other resting lightly on herhip, had an heroic aspect, like a statue in dark marble; but her eyesdid not offer the blank gaze, the calm effrontery of stone: theylooked at Henrietta with something like appeal against this obsessionof the cat. 

'Oh, I'm glad the cat's gone, ' Henrietta murmured. 'What happened toit?'

Rose shook her head. 'It disappeared. '

They stared at each other until Henrietta said, 'But all the same, Idon't want to go. ' And then, because Rose would not help her out, shewas obliged to say, 'It's Mr. Sales. ' Her voice dropped. 'I haven'tseen him since I hit him. '

Rose turned to go upstairs. 'I shouldn't think too much of that. '

'You don't think it matters?'

'No. '

Henrietta looked after her and followed her for a step. 'You think Imay go?' Her voice was dull under her effort to control it. She feltthat the stately figure moving up the stairs was deliberately leavingher to face a danger, sanctioning her desire to meet it. She felt herfate was in the answer made by Rose. 

'I think you can take care of yourself perfectly well, Henrietta, ' andlike a sigh, another sentence floated from the landing where Rosestood, out of sight: 'You are not like me. '

This was a mysterious and astonishing remark. Henrietta did notunderstand it and in her excited realization that the door socarefully locked by her own hand had been opened. Aunt Rose, she didnot try to understand it. Aunt Rose had said she was able to take careof herself, and it was true, but honesty and a weak clinging to safetyurged her to answer, 'But you see, you see I don't want to do it!'

These words were not uttered. She stood, looking up towards the emptylanding with a hand pressed against her heart. It was beating fast. The spirit of Reginald Mallett, subdued in his daughter for somemonths, seemed to be fluttering in her breast and it was Aunt Rose whohad waked it up. It was not Henrietta's fault, she was notresponsible; and suddenly, the ordinary happiness she had beenenjoying was transferred into an irrational joy. She went singing upthe stairs, and Rose, sitting in her room in a state of limpness shewould never have allowed anybody to see, heard a sound as innocent asif a bird had waked to a sunny dawn. 

Henrietta sang, but now and then she paused and became grave when thespirit of that mother who lived in her memory more and more dimly, asthough she had died when Henrietta was a child, overcame the spirit ofher father. Her mission was to be one of kindness to Christabel Sales, and if--the song burst out again--if adventure came in her way, couldshe refuse it? She would refuse nothing--the song ceased--short ofsin. She looked at herself and saw a solemn feminine edition of theportrait hanging behind her on the wall. She was like her father, butshe took pride in her greater conscientiousness; her vocabulary waslarger than his by at least one word. 

A few days later she set out on that road and past those trees whichhad been the safe witnesses of so much of Rose Mallett's life, buttheir safeness lay in their constant muteness, and they had no messagefor Henrietta. Walking quickly, she rehearsed her coming meeting withFrancis Sales, but when she actually met him on the green track, onthe very spot where Rose had pulled up her horse in amazement at thescene of transformation, Henrietta, like Rose, had no formal greetingfor him. 

She said, 'The trees! What are you doing with them?'

'Turning them into gold. '

'But they were beautiful. '

'So are lots of things they will buy. ' She moved a little under hislook, but when he said, 'I'm hard up, ' she became interested. 

'Really? I thought you were frightfully rich. You ought to be with allthese belongings. ' She looked round at the fields dotted with sheepand cattle, the distant chimneys of Sales Hall, the fallen trees andthe team of horses dragging logs under the guidance of workmen intheir shirt sleeves. 'I know all about being poor, ' she said, 'but Idon't suppose we mean the same thing by the word. I've been so poor--'She stopped. 'But there's a lot of excitement about it. I used to hopeI should find a shilling in my purse that I'd forgotten. A shilling!You can do a lot with a shilling. At least I can. '

'I wish you'd tell me how. '

'Pretend you haven't got it. That's the beginning. You haven't got it, so you can't have what you want. '

'I never have what I want. '

'Then you mustn't want anything. '

'Oh, yes, that's so easy. '

'Well'--she descended to details with an air of kindness--'what do youwant? Let's work it out. We'd better sit on the wall. After all, it'srather lovely without the trees. It's so clear and the air's so blue, as if it's trying to make up. Now tell me what you want. '

'Something money can't buy. '

'Then you needn't have cut down the trees. '

'I shouldn't have if I'd thought you'd care. '

She said softly but sharply, 'I don't believe that for a moment. Whydon't you tell the truth?'

'Do you want to hear it?'

'I'm not sure. '

'Then I'll wait while you make up your mind. '

Sitting on the wall, his feet rested easily on the ground while hersswung free, and while he seemed to loll in complete indifference, shewas conscious of a tenseness she could not prevent. She hated herenjoyment of his manner, which was impudent, but it had the spice ofdanger that she liked and it was in defiance of the one andencouragement of the other that she said, 'I'm sure you would nevertalk to Aunt Rose like that. '

'I should never give your Aunt Rose my confidence, ' he said severely. 

It was impossible not to feel a warmth of satisfaction, and she askedshortly, 'Why not?' 'She wouldn't understand. You're human. I'mdevilish lonely. Well, you know my circumstances. ' A shadow whichseemed to affect the brightness of the autumn day, even deadening theclear shouting of the men and the jingling of the chains attached tothe horses, passed over Francis Sales's face. 'One wants a friend. '

A cry of genuine bewilderment came from Henrietta. 'But I thought youwere so fond of Aunt Rose!'

From sulky contemplation of his brown boots and leggings, he looked ather. His eyes, of a light yet dense blue, were widely opened. 'Whatmakes you think that? Did she tell you?'

Henrietta's lip curled derisively. 'No, it was you, when you looked ather. And now you have told me again. ' She had a moment of thoughtfulcontempt for the blundering of men. There was Charles, who alwaysseemed to wander in a mist, and now this Francis Sales, who revealedwhat he wished to hide. He was mentally inferior to Mr. Jenkins, whohad a quickness of wit, a vulgar sharpness of tongue which kept themind on the alert; but physically she had shrunk from Mr. Jenkins'sproximity, while that of Francis Sales, in his well-cut tweeds and hisshining boots, who seemed as clean as the air surrounding him, had anattraction actually enhanced by his heaviness of spirit. He was like achild possessed, consciously or unconsciously, of a weapon, and hersense of her own superiority was corrected by fear of his strength andof the subtle weakness in her own blood. 

She heard a murmur. 'She has treated me very badly. I've known her allmy life. Well--'

Henrietta, with a gentleness he appreciated and a cleverness hemissed, said commiseratingly, 'She wouldn't let you take her hand inthe wood. '

'What on earth are you talking about? Look here, Henrietta, what doyou mean?' There had been so many occasions of the kind that it wasimpossible to know to which one she referred, and, looking back, hispast seemed to be blocked with frustrations and petty torments. 'Whatdo you mean?' he repeated. 

'Never mind. '

'This is some gossip, ' he muttered. 

'Yes, among the squirrels and the rabbits. Woods are full of eyes andears. '

'Well, ' he said, 'the eyes and ears will have to find another home. There will soon be no wood left. '

So he had tried to take Aunt Rose's hand in this wood too! She laughedwith the pretty trill which made her laughter a new thing every time. 

'I don't see the joke, ' he grumbled. 

She turned to him. 'I don't think you've laughed very much in yourlife. You're always being sorry for yourself. '

'I have been very unfortunate, ' he replied. 

'There you are again! Why don't you tell yourself you're lucky not tosquint or turn in your toes? You'd be much more miserable then--much. But thinking yourself unfortunate, when you're not, is a pleasantoccupation. '

'How do you know?'

'I know a lot, ' Henrietta said. 'But I never thought myselfunfortunate, so I wasn't. '

'Very noble, ' Sales said sourly. 

'No. I told you it was exciting to be poor. You're not poor enough. Anew dress, ' she went on, clasping her hands; 'first of all, I had tosave up--in pennies. ' She turned accusingly. 'You don't believe it. '

'It must have taken a long time. '

'It did, but not so long as you would think, because it cost so littlein the end. I saved up, and then I looked in the shop windows, andthen I talked about it for days, and then I bought the stuff. Mothercut out the dress, and then I made it. '

'And the result was charming. '

'I thought so then. Now I know it wasn't, but at the time I washappy. '

'Well, ' he said, 'that's very interesting, but it doesn't help me. '

'But I could help you if you told me your troubles. I should knowhow. '

'Telling my troubles would be a help. '

'Here I am, then. '

'What's the good?' he said. 'You'll desert me, too. '

'Not if you're good. '

'Oh, if that's the stipulation--' He stood up. His tone, which mighthave been provocative, was simply bored. She knew she had been dull, and her lip trembled with mortification. 

'Why, of course!' she cried gaily, when she had mastered thatweakness. 'Aunt Caroline warned me against you this very afternoon. She said--but, never mind. I'm not going to repeat her remarks. Andanyhow, Aunt Sophia said they were not true. Aunt Rose, ' Henriettasaid thoughtfully, 'was not there. I don't suppose either of them isright. And now I'm going to see Mrs. Sales. '

He ran after her. 'Henrietta, I shouldn't tell her you've seen me. '

She frowned. 'I don't like that. '

'It's for her sake. '

Henrietta turned away without a word, but she pondered, as she went, on the dangerous likeness between right and wrong and the horriblefacility with which they could be, with which they had to be, interchanged. One became bewildered, one became lost; she felt herselfbeing forced into a false position: she might not be able to get out. Aunt Rose had sent her, Francis Sales was conspiring with her--shemade her father's gesture of helplessness, it was not her fault. Butshe made up her mind she would never allow Francis Sales to find herdull again, for that was unfair to herself. 

§ 3

Rose Mallett, who had always accepted conditions and not criticizedthem, found herself in those days forced to a puzzled consideration oflife. It seemed an unnecessary invention on the part of a creator, afreak which, on contemplation, he must surely regret. She was nottired of her own existence, but she wondered what it was for and what, possessing it, she could do with it. Her one attempt at usefulness hadbeen foiled, and though she had never consciously wanted anything todo, she felt the need now that she was deprived of it. She passed herdays in the order and elegance of Nelson Lodge, in a monotonoussatisfaction of the eye, listening to the familiar chatter of Carolineand Sophia, dressing herself with tireless care and refusing to regrether past. Nevertheless, it had been wasted, and the only occupation ofher present was her anxiety for Francis Sales. She could not ridherself of that claim, begun so long ago. She had to accept theinactive responsibility which in another would have resolved itselfinto earnest prayer but which in her was a stoical endurance ofpossibilities. 

What was he doing? What would he do? She knew he could not standalone, she knew she must continue to hold herself ready for hisservice, but a prisoner fastened to a chain does not find much solacein counting the links, and that was all she had to do. It seemed toher that she moved, rather like a ghost, up and down the stairs, aboutthe landing, in the delicate silence of her bedroom; that she satghost-like at the dining-table and heard the strangely aimless talk ofhuman beings. She supposed there were countless women like herself, unoccupied and lonely, yet her pride resented the idea. There was onlyone Rose Mallett; there was no one else with just her past, with thesame mental pictures and her peculiar isolation, and if she had been avainer woman she would have added that no other woman offered the samekind of beauty to a world in need of it. Her obvious consolation wasin the presence of Henrietta, though she had little companionship togive her aunt, and no suspicion that Rose, almost unawares, began totransfer her interests to the girl, to set her mind on Henrietta'shappiness. She would take her abroad and let her see the world. 

Caroline sniffed at the suggestion, Sophia sighed. 

'The world's the same everywhere, ' Caroline said. 'If you know one manyou know them all. '

'But if you know a great many, you will know one all the better. However, ' she smiled in the way of which her stepsisters were afraid, 'I wasn't thinking of men. '

'That's where you're so unnatural. '

'I was thinking of places--cities and mountains and plains. '

'You'll get the plague or be run away with by brigands. '

'I think Henrietta and I would rather like the brigands. We must avoidthe plague. '

'Smallpox, ' Caroline went on, 'and your complexions ruined. '

'I wish you would stay at home, ' Sophia said. 'Caroline and I aregetting old. '

'Nonsense, Sophia! I'd go myself for twopence. But I'd better waithere and get the ransom money ready, and then James Batty and I canstart out together with a bag of it. ' She laughed loudly at theprospect of setting forth with the respectable James. 'And it wouldn'tbe the first elopement I'd planned either. When I was eighteen I setmy mind on getting out of my bedroom window with a bundle--no, ofcourse I never told you, Sophia. You would have run in hysterics tothe General. But there was never one among them all who was worth theinconvenience, so I gave it up. I always had more sense thansentiment. ' She sighed with regret for the legions of disappointed andfictitious lovers waiting under windows, with which her mind waspeopled. 'Not one, ' she repeated. 

No one took any notice. Sophia, drooping her heavy head, was thinkingof brigands in a far country and of Caroline and herself left inNelson Lodge without Rose and without Henrietta. If they really wentaway she determined to tell Henrietta the story of her lover, lest sheshould die and the tale be unrecorded. She wanted somebody to know;she would tell Henrietta on the eve of her departure, among the bagsand boxes. He had gone to America and died there, and that continentwas both sacred to her and abhorrent. 

'Don't go to America, ' she murmured. 

'Why not?' Caroline demanded. 'Just the place they ought to go to. Lots of millionaires. '

Rose reassured Sophia. 'And it is only an idea. I haven't said a wordto Henrietta. '

Henrietta showed no enthusiasm for the suggestion. She liked Radstowe. And there was the Battys' ball. It would be a pity to miss that. Shemust certainly not miss that, said Caroline and Sophia. And what wasshe going to wear? They had better go upstairs at once, to the elderladies' room, and see what could be done with Caroline's pink satin. She had only worn it once, years ago. Nobody would remember it, andtrimmed with some of her mother's lace, the big flounce and the fichu, it would be a different thing. Sophia could wear her apricot. 

'Come along, Henrietta. Come along, Rose. We must really get thissettled. '

They went upstairs, Caroline moving with heavy dignity, but keeping upher head as she had been taught in her youth. Nothing was moreunbecoming than ducking the head and sticking out the back. Sophiawent slowly, holding to the balustrade, so very slowly that Henriettadid not attempt to start. She said softly to Rose, 'How slowly shegoes. I've never noticed it before. '

'She always goes upstairs like that, ' Rose said. 'It is not natural toher to hurry. '

Henrietta followed and found Sophia panting a little on the landing. She laid hold of her niece's arm. 'A little out of breath, ' shewhispered. 'Don't say anything, dear child, to Caroline. She doesn'tlike to be reminded of our age. '

They went into the bedroom and Rose, drifting into her own room, heardthe opening of the great wardrobe doors. She would be called inpresently for her advice, but there would be a lot of talk and manyreminiscences before she was needed. She stood by the fire, which, giving the only light to the room, threw golden patches on the whitedressing-gown lying across a chair, and made the buckles on her shoessparkle like diamonds. 

She was wondering why Henrietta's eyes had darkened as though withfear at the idea of going away. She had been very quick in veilingthem, and her voice, too, had been quick, a little tremulous. Therewas more than the Battys' ball in her desire to stay in Radstowe. Wasit Charles whom she was both to leave? Afterwards, perhaps in thespring, she had said it would be nice to go. It was kind of Aunt Rose, and Aunt Rose, gazing down at the fire, controlled her longing toescape from this place too full of memories. She would not leaveHenrietta who had to be cared for, perhaps protected; she would notpersuade her who had to be happy, but she felt a sinking of the heartwhich was almost physical. She rested both hands on the mantelshelfand on them her weight. She felt as though she could not go on likethis for ever. She, who apparently had no ties, was never free; shehad the duties without the joys, and for these few minutes, before aknock came at the door, she allowed herself the relief of melancholy. She was incapable of tears, but she wished she could cry bitterly andfor a long time. 

The knock was Henrietta's. She entered a little timidly. Aunt Rose wasnot free with invitations to her room and to Henrietta it was abeautiful and mysterious place. She had a childlike pleasure in thesilver and glass on the dressing-table, in glimpses of exquisitegarments and slippers worn to the shape of Aunt Rose's slim foot, andAunt Rose herself was like some fairy princess growing old and no lesslovely in captivity, but to-night, that dark straight figure splashedby the firelight reminded her of words uttered by Christabel. She hadsaid that all Henrietta's aunts were witches, and for the first timethe girl agreed. In the other room, brilliantly lighted, Caroline andSophia were bending somewhat greedily over a mass of silks and satinsand laces, their cheeks flushed round the dabs of rouge, their fingersactive yet inept, fumbling in what might have been a brew for theworking of spells; and here, straight as a tree, Aunt Rose looked intothe fire as though she could see the future in its red heart, but hervoice, very clear, had a reassuring quality. It was not, Henriettathought, a witch's voice. Witches mumbled and screeched, and Aunt Rosespoke like water falling from a height. 

'Come in, Henrietta. Is the consultation over?'

'It has hardly begun. What a lot of clothes they have, and boxes oflace, boxes! I think you will have to decide for them. And AuntCaroline snubs Aunt Sophia, all the time. '

'Did they send you to fetch me?'

'Yes, but we needn't go back yet, need we? Aunt Caroline wants to wearher emeralds, but she says they will look vulgar with pink satin. There's some lovely grey stuff like a cobweb. She says it was in hermother's trousseau and I think she ought to wear that, but she saysshe is going to keep it until she's old!'

'Then she'll never wear it. She will never make such an admission. '

'And she won't let Aunt Sophia have it because she says it would makeher look like a dusty broom. And it would, you know! She's really veryfunny sometimes. '

'Very funny. We're queer people, Henrietta. '

'Are we? And I'm more theirs than yours. '

'As far as blood goes, yes. ' She spoke very quietly, but she felt agreat desire to assert, for once, her own claims, instead of acceptingthose of others. She wanted to tell Henrietta that in return for thesecret care, the growing affection she was giving, she demandedconfidence and love; but she had never asked for anything in her life. She had taken coolly much she could easily have done without, admiration and respect and the material advantages to which she hadbeen born, but she had asked for nothing. Cruelly conscious of allthat lay in the gift of Henrietta, who sat in a low chair, her chin onthe joined fingers of her hands, Rose continued to look at the fire. 

'You mean I'm really more like you?' Henrietta said. 'Am I? I'm likemy father, ' and she added softly, 'terribly. '

'Why terribly?'

Henrietta moved her feet. 'Oh, I don't know. '

'I wish you'd tell me. '

'He was queer. You said we all were, and I'm a Mallett, too, that'sall. Don't you think we ought to go and see about the dresses now?Aunt Rose, they're bothering me to wear white, the only thing for ayoung girl, but I want to wear yellow. Don't you think I might?'

Rose, who had felt herself on the brink of confidences, as though shepeered over a cliff, and watched the mists clear to show the secretvalley underneath, now saw the clouds thicken hopelessly, andretreated from her position with an effort. 

'Yellow? Yes, certainly. You will look like a marigold. Henrietta--'She did not know what she was going to say, but she wanted to detainthe girl for a little longer, she hoped for another chance of drawingnearer. 'Henrietta, wait a minute. ' She moved to her dressing-table, smiling at what she was about to do. It seemed as though she weregoing to bribe the girl to love her, but she was only yielding to thepathetic human desire to give something tangible since the intangiblewas ignored. 'When I was twenty-one, ' she said, 'your father gave me apresent. '

'Only when you were twenty-one?'

'Well, ' Rose excused him, 'we didn't know each other very well. He wasa great deal from home, but he remembered my twenty-first birthday andhe gave me this necklace. I think it's beautiful, but I never wear itnow, and I think you may like to have it. Here it is, in its own boxand with the card he wrote--"A jewel for a rose. "'

Holding it in her cupped hands, Henrietta murmured with delight: 'MayI have it really? How lovely! And may I have the card, too? He did saynice things. Are you sure you can spare the card? I expect he admiredyou very much. He liked beautiful women. My mother was pretty, too;but I don't believe he ever gave her anything except a wedding-ring, and he had to give her that. '

'Oh, Henrietta--well, his daughter shall have all he gave me. '

'If you're sure you don't want it. What are the stones?'

'Topaz and diamonds; but so small that you can wear them. '

'Topaz and diamonds! Oh!' And Henrietta, clasping it round her neckand surveying herself by the candles Rose had lighted, said earnestly, 'Oh, I do hope he paid for it!' This was the first thought of ReginaldMallett's daughter. 

Rose was horrified into laughter, which seemed hysterically continuousto Henrietta, and through it Rose cried tenderly, 'Oh, you poor child!You poor child!'

Henrietta did not laugh. She said gravely, 'All the same, I'm glad Ihad him for a father. Nobody but he would have chosen a thing likethis. He had such taste. ' She looked at her aunt. 'I do hope I havesome taste, too. '

'I hope you have, ' Rose said with equal gravity. She laughed nolonger. 'There are many kinds, and though he knew how to choose anornament, he made mistakes in other ways. '

Henrietta unclasped the necklace and laid it down. She looked, indeed, remarkably like her father. Her eyes flashed above her angry mouth. 'You mean my mother!'

'No, Henrietta. How could I? I did not know your mother, and from thelittle you have told us I believe she was too good for him. '

'How can I tell you more, ' Henrietta protested, 'when I know what youwould be thinking? You would be thinking she was common. Aunt Carolinedoes. She does! I don't know how she dare! No, I won't have thenecklace. '

'You must believe what I say, Henrietta. Your mother was not the onlywoman in your father's life, and I was referring to the others. '

'You need not speak of them to me, ' Henrietta said with dignity. 

'I won't do so again. That, perhaps, is where my own taste failed. 'She decided to put out no more feelers for Henrietta's thoughts. Itwas what she would have resented bitterly herself, and it did no good. She was not clever at this unpractised art, and she told herself thatif her own affection could not tell her what she wished to know, theinformation would be useless. Moreover, she had Henrietta's word forit that she was terribly like her father. 

'So put on the necklace again. It suits you better than it does me, sowell that we can pretend he really chose it for you. '

'Yes, ' Henrietta said, fingering it again, 'if you promise you neverthink anything horrid about my mother. '

'The worst I have ever thought of her, ' Rose said lightly, 'is envyingher for her daughter. '

She saw Henrietta's mouth open inelegantly. 'Me? Oh, but you're notold enough. '

'I feel very old sometimes. '

'I thought you were when I first saw you, ' Henrietta said, looking inthe glass and swaying her body to make the diamonds glitter, 'but nowI know you never will be, because it's only ugly people who get old. When your hair is white you'll be like a queen. Now you're a princess, though Mrs. Sales says you're a witch. Oh, I didn't mean to tell youthat. It was a long time ago. She is never disagreeable now. I'm goingto see her again to-morrow. '

'I wish you would go in the morning, Henrietta. The afternoons getdark so soon and the road is lonely. '

'She doesn't like visitors in the morning, ' Henrietta said. 'I lovethis necklace. Could I wear it to the dance?'

'It depends on the dress. If you are really to look like a marigoldyou must wear no ornaments. If you had yellow tulle--' And Rose tookpencil and paper and made a rough design, talking with enthusiasmmeanwhile, for like all the Malletts, she loved clothes. 

The next day Caroline had to stay in bed. She had been feverish allnight and Sophia appeared in Rose's bedroom early in the morning, hergreat plait of hair swinging free, her face yellow with anxiety andsleeplessness and lack of powder, to inform her stepsister that dearCaroline was very ill: they must have the doctor directly afterbreakfast. Sophia was afraid Caroline was going to die. She hadgroaned in the night when she thought Sophia was asleep. 'I deceivedher, ' Sophia said. 'I hope it wasn't wrong, but I knew she would beeasier if she thought I slept. Now she says there is nothing thematter with her and she wants to get up, but that's her courage. '

Caroline was not allowed to rise and after breakfast and an hour withSophia behind the locked door she announced her readiness to see thedoctor, who diagnosed nothing more serious than a chill. She was verymuch disgusted with his order to stay in bed. She had not had a day inbed for years; she believed people were only ill when they wanted tobe and, as she did not wish to be, she was not ill. She had noresource but to be unpleasant to Sophia, to the silently devoted Susanand to Rose who had intended to go to Sales Hall with Henrietta. 

She was not able to do that, but later in the afternoon she set out tomeet her so that she might have company for part of the dark way home. 

Afterwards, she could never make up her mind whether she was glad orsorry she had gone. She had expected to meet Henrietta within a mileor two of the bridge, and the further she went without a sight of thesmall figure walking towards her, the more necessary it became toproceed, but she felt a deadly sickness of this road. She loved eachindividual tree, each bush and field and the view from every point, but the whole thing she hated. It was the personification of mistake, disappointment and slow disillusion, but now it was all shrouded indarkness and she seemed to be walking on nothing, through nothing andtowards nothing. She herself was nothing and she thought of nothing, though now and then a little wave of anxiety washed over her. Wherewas Henrietta?

She became genuinely alarmed when, in the hollow between the track andthe rising fields, she saw a fire and discovered by its light acaravan, a cart, a huddle of dark figures, a tethered pony, and heardthe barking of dogs. There were gipsies camping in the sheltered dip. If Henrietta had walked into their midst, she might have been robbed, she would certainly have been frightened; and Rose stood still, listening intently. 

The cleared space, where the wood had been, stretched away to a lineof trees edging the main road and above it there was a greenish colourin the sky. There was not a sound but what came from the encampment. Down there the fire glowed like some enormous and mysterious jewel andbefore it figures which had become poetical and endowed with somehaggard kind of beauty passed and vanished. They might have beenemployed in the rites of some weird worship and the movements whichwere in reality connected with the cooking of some snared bird orrabbit seemed to have a processional quality. The fire wasreplenished, the stew was stirred, there was a faint clatter of tinplates and a sharp cracking of twigs: a figure passed before the firewith extraordinary gestures and slid into the night: another figureappeared and followed its predecessor: smoke rose and a savoury smellfloated on the air. 

Suddenly a child wailed and Rose had the ghastly impression that itwas the child who was in the pot. 

Cautiously she stepped into the clearing; the dogs barked again andshe ran swiftly, as silently as possible, leaping over the smallhummocks of heath, dodging the brushwood and finding a certainpleasure in her own speed and in her fear that the dogs would soon besnapping at her heels. If she did not find Henrietta on the road, shewould go on to Sales Hall. Very high up, clouds floated as thoughpatrolling the sky; they found in her fleeting figure something whichmust be watched. 

She was breathless and strangely happy when she reached the road. Shewas pleased at her capacity for running and her dull trouble seemed tohave lifted, to have risen from her mind and gone off to join theclouds. She laughed a little and dropped down on a stone, and abovethe hurried beating of her heart she heard fainter, more despairing, the cry of the gipsy child. 'It isn't cooked yet, ' she thought. Therewas a deeper silence, and she imagined a horrible dipping into thepot, a loud and ravenous eating. 

For a few minutes she forgot her quest, conscious of a happy loss ofpersonality in this solitary place, feeling herself merged into thenight, looking up at the patrolling clouds which, having lost her, hadmoved on. She sat in the darkness until she heard, very far off, thebeat of a horse's hoofs, the rumble of wheels. She remembered thenthat she had to find Henrietta. The road towards Sales Hall wasnowhere blurred by a figure, there was no sound of footsteps, and thenoise of the approaching horse and cart was distantly symbolic ofhuman activity and home-faring; it made her think of lights and food. 

She looked back, and not many yards away two figures stepped from thesheltering trees by the roadside. On the whiteness of the road theywere clear and unmistakable. Their arms were outstretched and theirhands were joined and, as she looked, the two forms became one, separated and parted. The feet of Henrietta went tapping down the roadand for a moment Francis stood and watched her. Then he turned. Hestruck a match, and Rose saw his face and hands illuminated like apaper lantern. The match made a short, brilliant journey in the airand fell extinguished. He had lighted his pipe and was advancingtowards her. She, too, advanced and stopped a few feet from him and atonce she said calmly, 'Was that Henrietta? I came to find her. '

He stammered something; she was afraid he was going to lie, yet at thesame time she knew that to hear him lie would give her pleasure; itwould be like the final shattering and trampling of her love: but hedid not lie. 

'Yes, Henrietta, ' he said sullenly. 'There are gipsies in the hollow. I shall turn them out to-morrow. '

'Let them stay there, ' she said, she knew not why. 

'They're all thieves, ' he muttered. 

Neither spoke. It was like a dream to be standing there with him andhearing Henrietta's footsteps tapping into silence. Then Rose asked ingenuine bewilderment, 'Why did you let her go home alone? Why did youleave her here?'

'She wouldn't have me. She's safe now'; and raising his voice, healmost cried, 'You shouldn't let her come here!' It was a cry forhelp, he was appealing to her again, he was the victim of his habit. She smiled and wondered if her pale face was as clear to him as hiswas to her. 

'No, I should not, ' she said slowly. 'I should not. One does nothingall one's life but make mistakes. ' Her chief feeling at that momentwas one of self-disgust. She moved away without another word, goingslowly so that she should not overtake Henrietta. 

§ 4

Henrietta was going very fast, impelled by the fury of her thoughts, and she forgot to be afraid of the lonely country, for she feltherself still wrapped in the dangerous safety of that man's embrace, and the darkness through which she went was still the palpitatingdarkness which had fallen over her at his touch. The thing had beenbound to happen. She had been watching its approach and pretending itwas not there, and now it had arrived and she was giddy withexcitement, inspired with a sense of triumph, tremulous withapprehension. 

Her thoughts were not of her lover as an individual, but of thesituation as a whole. Here she was, Henrietta Mallett, from Mrs. Banks's boarding-house, the chief figure in a drama and an unrepentantsinner. She could not help it: she loved him; he needed her. Sincethat day when she had offered him friendship and help, he had beendepending on her more and more, a big man like a neglected baby. Shehad strenuously fixed her mind on the babyish side of him, but all thetime her senses had been attracted by the man, and now, by the merephysical experience of the force of his arms, she could never see himas a child again. She clung to the idea of helping him, to the thoughtof his misfortunes, for that was imperative, but she was now consciousof her fewer years, her infinitely smaller bodily strength, thelimitations of her sex. 

And suddenly, as she moved swiftly, hardly feeling the ground underher feet, she began to cry, with emotion, with fear and joy. What wasgoing to happen to her? She loved him. She could still feel theviolence of his clasp, the roughness of his coat on her cheeks, theiron of his hands, so distinctly that it seemed to have happened onlya moment ago, yet she was nearly home. She could see the lights of thebridge as though swung on a cord across the gulf, and she dried hereyes. She was exhausted and hungry and when she had passed over theriver she made her way to a shop where chocolates could be bought. Sheknew their comforting and sustaining properties. It was unromantic, but hunger asserts itself in spite of love. 

It was getting late and the shop was empty but for one assistant and atall young man. This was Charles Batty, taking a great deal of troubleover his purchase, for spread before him on the counter was anassortment of large chocolate boxes adorned with bows of ribbon andpictures of lovers leaning over stiles and red-lipped maidenscaressing dogs. 

'I don't like these pictures, ' Henrietta heard him mutter bashfully. 

'Here's one with roses. Roses are always suitable. ' 'No, ' he said, 'Iwant a big white box with crimson ribbon. ' Henrietta stepped up to hisside. 'I'll help you choose, ' she said. 

He started, stared, forgot to take off his hat. He gazed at her withthe absorption of some connoisseur looking at the perfect thing he hasdreamed of: he looked without greed and with a sort of ecstasy whichleft his face expressionless and embarrassed Henrietta in the presenceof the arch girl behind the counter. 

Charles waked up. 'I want a white one, ' he repeated, 'with crimsonribbon. No pictures. ' The assistant went away and he turned toHenrietta. 'It's for you, ' he said. 

'Charles, don't speak so loud. '

'I don't care. But I suppose you're ashamed of me. Yes, of course, that's it. '

'Don't be silly, ' Henrietta said, 'and do be quick, because I wantsome chocolates myself. '

With the large box, white and crimson-ribboned and wrapped in paper, under his arm, he waited until she was served, and then they walkedtogether down the street, made brilliant with the lights of manylittle shops. 

'This is for you, ' he said, 'but I'll carry it. '

'But this isn't the way home. '

'No. ' They turned back into the dimmer road bordering The Green. 

'I suppose you wouldn't walk round the hill?'

'I don't mind. ' She felt as she might have done in the company of somelarge, protective dog. He was there, saving her from the fear ofmolestation, but there was no need to speak to him, it was almostimpossible to think consecutively of him, yet she did remind herselfthat a very long time ago, when she was young, he had said wonderfulthings to her. She had forgotten that fact in the stir of these lastdays. 

'I got these chocolates for you, ' he said again. 'I thought perhapsthat was the kind of thing I ought to do. I don't know, and you can'task people because they'd laugh. Why didn't you come to tea onSunday?'

'I can't come every Sunday. '

'Of course you can. Considering I'm engaged to you, it's only proper. '

'I don't know what you mean. '

'Yes, ' he said, 'you may not be engaged to me, but I'm engaged to you. That's what I've decided. '

She laughed. 'You'll find it rather dull, I'm afraid. '

'No, ' he said. 'I can do things for you. ' She was struck by thatsimple statement, spoilt by his next words: 'Like these chocolates. '

He was very insistent about the chocolates and proud of his idea. Shethanked him. 'But I don't want you to give me things. '

'You can't stop me. I'm doing it all the time. '

They had reached the highest point of the hill and they halted at therailing on the cliff's edge. Below them, the blackness of earth gaveway to the blackness of air and the shining blackness of water, andslowly the opposing cliff cleared itself from a formless mass into thehardly seen shapes of rock and tree. Here was beauty, here wassomething permanent in the midst of change, and it seemed as thoughthe hand of peace were laid on Henrietta. For a moment the episode onthe other side of the water and the problem it involved took theirtiny places in the universe instead of the large ones in her life and, strangely enough, it was Charles Batty who loomed up big, as though hehad some odd fellowship with immensity and beauty. 

'What do you give me?' she asked. 'I don't want it, you know, but tellme. '

'I told you that night when you listened and took it all. I don'tthink I can say it again. '

'No, but you're not to misunderstand me, and you mustn't go on givingand getting nothing back. '

'That's just what I can do. Not many people could, but I can. Perhapsit's the only way I can be great, like an artist giving his work to aworld that doesn't care. '

The quick sense she had to serve her instead of knowledge and to makeher unconsciously subtle, detected his danger in the words and somelack of homage to herself. 'Ah, you're pretending, and you're enjoyingit, ' she said. 'It's consoling you for not being able to do anythingelse. '

'Who said I couldn't do anything else?'

'Well, you nearly did, and I don't suppose you can. If you could, youwouldn't bother about me. '

He was silent and though she did not look at him she was very keenlyaware of his tall figure wrapped in an overcoat reaching almost to hisheels and with the big parcel under his left arm. He was alwaysslightly absurd and now, when he struck the top bar of the railingwith his left hand and uttered a mournful, 'Yes, it's true!' thetragedy in his tone could not repress her smile. Yet if he had beenless funny he might have been less truly tragic. 

'So, you see, I'm only a kind of makeshift, ' she remarked. 

'No, ' he said, 'but I may have been mistaken in myself. I'm notmistaken about you. Never!' he cried, striking the rail again. 

They were alone on the hill, but suddenly, with a clatter of wings, abird left his nest in the rocks and swept out of sight, leaving amemory of swiftness and life, of an intenser blackness in the gulf. Far below them, to the left, there were lights, stationary and moving, and sometimes the clang of a tramcar bell reached them with its harshmusic: the slim line of the bridge, with here and there a dimlyburning light, was like a spangled thread. The sound of footsteps andvoices came to them from the road behind the hill. 

'But after all, ' Charles said more clearly, 'it doesn't matter aboutbeing acclaimed. It's just like making music for deaf people: themusic's there; the music's there. And so it doesn't matter very muchwhether you love me. It's one's weakness that wants that, one'sloneliness. I can love you just the same, perhaps better; it's theaudience that spoils things. I should think it does!'

'So you're quite happy. '

'Not quite, ' he answered, 'but I have something to do, something I cando, too. Music--no, I'm not good enough. I'm no more than an amateur, but in this I can be supreme. '

'You can't be sure of that, ' she said acutely. 'If you wrote a poemyou might think it was perfect, but you wouldn't absolutely know tillyou'd tried it on other people. So you can't be sure about love. '

'You mightn't be, ' he said with a touch of scorn. 'You may depend onother people, but I don't. '

She made a small sound of scorn. 'No, you'll never know whether you'redoing this wonderful work of yours well or not because, ' she said, cruelly exultant, 'it won't be tested. '

'Ah, but it might be. You've got to do things as though they will be. '

'I suppose so, ' she said indifferently. 'And now I must go back. '

He turned obediently and thrust the parcel at her. 

'But aren't you going to take me home?' she asked. 

'No, I don't think I need do that. I shall stay here. '

'Then I won't have your chocolates. I didn't want them, anyhow, butnow I won't take them. '

'I don't understand you, ' he said miserably. 

'Doesn't the painter understand his paints or the musician hisinstruments? No, you'll have to begin at the beginning, Charles Batty, and work very hard before you're a success. '

She ran from him fleetly, hardly knowing why she was so angry, but itseemed to her that he had no right to be content without her love; shefelt he must be emasculate, and the guilty passion of Francis Saleswas, by contrast, splendid. But for that passion, Charles Batty mighthave persuaded her she was incapable of rousing men's desire and notto rouse it was not to be a woman. Accordingly, she valued Francis anddespised the other, yet when she had reached home and run upstairs andwas standing in the dim room where the firelight cast big, uncertainshadows, like vague threats, on walls and ceiling, she suffered areaction. 

The scene on the road became sinister: she remembered the strangesilence of the trees and the clangorous barking of the dogs, thehoarse voices from the encampment in the hollow. It had been very darkthere and an extraordinary blackness had buried her when she was inthat man's arms. It had been dark, too, on the hill, but with afeeling of space and height and freedom. If Charles had been a littledifferent--but then, he did not really want her; he was making a studyof his sorrow, he was gazing at it, turning it round and over, growingfamiliar with all its aspects. He was an artist frustrated of anypower but this of feeling and to have given him herself would simplyhave been to rob him of what he found more precious. But she andFrancis Sales were kin; she understood him: he was not better thanherself, perhaps he was not so good and he, too, was unhappy, but hedid not love her for those qualities of which Charles Batty had talkedby the Monks' Pool, he wove no poetry about her: he loved her becauseshe was pretty; because her mouth was red and her eyes bright and herbody young: he loved her because, being her father's daughter, heryouth answered his desire with enough shame to season appetite, butnot to spoil it. And she thought of Christabel as of some sick doll. 

Dinner was a strange meal that night. Caroline's chair was empty, andthe sighs of Sophia were like gentle zephyrs in the room. Henrietta'ssilence might have been interpreted as anxiety about her aunt andSusan informed the cook, truly enough, that Miss Henrietta had afeeling heart. 

It was only Rose who could have explained the nature of the feeling. She was fascinated by the sight of Henrietta, her rival, her fellowdupe. Rose looked at her without envy or malice or covetousness, butwith an extraordinary interest, trying to find what likeness toherself and what differences had attracted Francis Sales. 

There was the dark hair, curly where hers was straight, dark eyesinstead of grey ones, the same warm pallor of the skin, in Henrietta'scase slightly overlaid with pink; but the mouth, ah! it must be themouth and what it meant that made the alluring difference. Henrietta'smouth was soft, red and mutinous; in her father it had been a blemish, half hidden by the foreign cut of moustache and beard, but inHenrietta it was a beauty and a warning. Rose had never properlystudied that mouth before and under the fixity of her gaze Henrietta'seyelids fluttered upwards. There were shadows under her eyes and itseemed to Rose that she had changed a little. She must have changed. Rose had never been in the arms of Francis Sales; she shuddered now atthe thought, but she knew that she, too, would have been differentafter that experience. 

She looked at Henrietta with the sadness of her desire to help her, the fear of her inability to do it; and Henrietta looked back with ahint of defiance, the symbol of her attitude to the cruel world inwhich fond lovers were despised and love had a hard road. Roserestrained an impulse to lean across the table and say quietly, 'I sawyou to-night with Francis Sales and I am sorry for you. He told me Ishould not let you meet him. He said that himself, so you see he doesnot want you, ' and she wondered how much that cry of his had beenuttered in despair of his passion and how much in weariness ofHenrietta and himself. 

Rose leaned back in her chair and immediately straightened. She wasintolerably tired but she refused to droop. It seemed as though shewere never to be free from secrecy: after her release there had been ashort time of dreary peace and now she had Henrietta's fight to wagein secret, her burden to carry without a word. And this was worse, more difficult, for she had less power with which to meet more danger. Between the candle lights she sent a smile to Henrietta, but thegirl's mouth was petulantly set and it was a relief when Sophiaquavered out, 'She won't be able to go to the Battys' ball! She willbe heart-broken. '

Rose and Henrietta were momentarily united in their common amazementat the genuineness of this sorrow and to both there was somethingcomic in the picture of the elderly Caroline, suffering from a chilland bemoaning the loss of an evening's pleasure. Henrietta cast a lookof scornful surprise at her Aunt Sophia. Was the Battys' ball a matterfor a broken heart? Rose said consolingly, 'It isn't till afterChristmas. Perhaps she will be well enough. '

'And Christmas, ' Sophia wailed. 'Henrietta's first Christmas here!With Caroline upstairs!'

'I don't like Christmas, ' Henrietta said. 'It makes me miserable. '

'But you will like the ball, ' Rose said. 'Why, if it hadn't been forthe ball we might have been in Algiers now. '

'With Caroline ill! I should have sent for you. '

'Shall we start, Henrietta, in a few weeks' time?' She ignoredHenrietta's vague murmur. 'Oh, not until Caroline is quite well, Sophia. We could go to the south of France, Henrietta. Yes, I think wehad better arrange that. ' Rose felt a slightly malicious pleasure inthis proposal which became a serious one as she spoke. 'You must learnto speak French, and it is a long time since I have been abroad. Itwill be a kindness to me. I don't care to go alone. We have noengagements after the middle of January, so shall we settle to gothen?' There was authority in her tone. 'We shall avoid brigands, Sophia, but I think we ought to go. It is not fair that Henrietta'sexperiences should be confined to Radstowe. '

'Quite right, dear. ' Sophia was unwillingly but nobly truthful. 'Wehave a duty to her father, but say nothing to Caroline until she isstronger. '

Henrietta was silent but she had a hot rage in her heart. She feltherself in a trap and she looked with sudden hatred and suspicion ather Aunt Rose. It was impossible to defy that calm authority. Shewould have to go, in merest gratitude she must consent; she would becarried off, but she looked round wildly for some means of escape. 

The prospect of that exile spoilt a Christmas which otherwise wouldnot have been a miserable one, for the Malletts made it a charmingfestival with inspired ideas for gifts and a delightful party onChristmas Day, when Caroline was allowed to appear. She refused to saythat she was better; she had never been ill; it was a mere fad of thedoctor and her sisters; she supposed they were tired of her and wanteda little peace. However, she continued to absorb large quantities ofstrengthening food, beef tea, meat jelly and heady tonic, for sheloved food, and she was determined to go to the ball. 

This was on New Year's Eve, and all that day, from the moment whenSusan drew the curtains and brought the early tea, there was anatmosphere of excitement in Nelson Lodge and Henrietta permittedherself to enjoy it. Francis Sales was to be at the ball. She forgotthe threatened exile, she ignored Charles Batty's tiresome insistencethat she must dance with him twice as many times as with anybody else, because he was engaged to her. 

'I don't believe you can dance a bit, ' she cried. 

'I can get round, ' he said. 'It's the noise of the band that upsetsme--jingle, jingle, bang, bang! But we can sit out when we can't bearit any longer. '

'That would be very amusing, ' Henrietta said. 

Susan, drawing Henrietta's curtains, remarked that it was a nice dayfor the ball and then, looking severely at Henrietta and arranging awrap round her shoulders, she said, 'I suppose Miss Caroline isgoing. '

'Oh, I hope so, ' Henrietta said. 'She's not worse, is she?'

'Not that I know of, Miss Henrietta, but I'm afraid it will be thedeath of her. ' She seemed to think it would be Henrietta's fault and, in the kitchen, she told Cook that, but for Miss Henrietta, theBattys, who were close-fisted people--you had only to look at Mr. Batty's mouth--would not be giving a ball at all, but they had theireyes on Miss Henrietta for that half-witted son of theirs. She wassure of it. And Miss Caroline was not fit to go, it would be the deathof her. Cook was optimistic. It would do Miss Caroline good; she wasalways the better for a little fun. 

The elder ladies breakfasted in bed to save themselves all unnecessaryfatigue, and throughout the day they moved behind half-lowered blinds. Henrietta was warned not to walk out. There was a cold wind, her facewould be roughened; and when she insisted on air and exercise she wasadvised to wear a thick veil. Both ladies offered her a shawl-likecovering for the face, but Henrietta shook her head. 'Feel, ' she said, lifting a hand of each to either cheek. 

'Like a flower, ' Sophia said. 

'The wind doesn't hurt flowers. It won't hurt me. '

Fires were lighted in the bedroom earlier than usual. Caroline andSophia again retired to their room, leaving orders that they were notto be disturbed until four o'clock, and a solemn hush fell on thehouse. 

While the ladies were having tea, Susan was busy in their bedroomlaying out their gowns and Henrietta, chancing to pass the open door, peeped in. The bed was spread with the rose-pink and apricot dressesof their choice, with petticoats of corresponding hues, with silkenstockings and long gloves and fans; and on the mound made by thepillows two pairs of very high-heeled slippers pointed their narrowtoes. It might have been the room of two young girls and, before shefluttered down to tea, Henrietta took another glance at the mass ofyellow tulle on her own bed. She wished Mrs. Banks and Miss Stubbcould see her in that dress. Mrs. Banks would cry and Miss Stubb wouldgrow poetical. She would have to write and tell them all about it. Ateight o'clock the four Miss Malletts assembled in the drawing-room. Caroline was magnificent. Old lace veiled the shimmering satin of hergown and made it possible to wear the family emeralds: these, heavilyset, were on her neck and in her ears; a pair of bracelets adorned herarms. Seen from behind, she might have been the stout and prosperousmother of a family in her prime and only when she turned and displayedthe pink patches on yellow skin, was her age discernible. She wasmagnificent, and terrible, and Henrietta had a moment of recoil beforeshe gasped, 'Oh, Aunt Caroline, how lovely!'

Sophia advanced more modestly for inspection. 'She looks abouttwenty-one!' Caroline exclaimed. 'What a figure! Like a girl's!'

'You're prejudiced, dear Caroline. I never had your air. You'rewonderful. '

'We're all wonderful!' Henrietta cried. 

They had all managed to express themselves: Caroline in the superbattempt at overcoming her age, and Sophia in the softness of herapparel; Rose, in filmy black and pearls round her firm throat, gentlyproud and distant; and Henrietta was like some delicately gaudyinsect, dancing hither and thither, approaching and withdrawing. 

'Yes, we're all wonderful, ' Henrietta said again. 'Don't you think weought to start? It's a pity for other people not to see us!'

With Susan's help they began the business of packing themselves intothe cab. Caroline lifted her skirts and showed remarkably thin legs, but she stood on the doorstep to quarrel with Sophia about the takingof a shawl. She ought to have a lace one round her shoulders, Sophiasaid, for the Assembly Rooms were always cold and it was a frostynight. 

'Sophia, you're an idiot, ' Caroline said. 'Do you think I'm going tosit in a ball-room in a shawl? Why not take a hot-water bottle and amuff?'

'At least we must have the smelling salts. Susan, fetch the salts. Miss Caroline might need them. '

Miss Caroline said she would rather die than display such weakness andshe stepped into the cab which groaned under her weight. Anotherfainter groan accompanied Sophia's entrance and Rose and Henrietta, tapping their satin shoes on the pavement, heard sounds of bickering. Sophia had forgotten her handkerchief and Susan fled once more intothe house. 

The cabman growled his disapproval from the box. 'I've another partyto fetch, ' he said. 'And how many of you's going?'

'Only four, ' Henrietta said sweetly, 'and we shan't be a minute. '

'I've been waiting ten already, ' said the man. 

The handkerchief was handed into the darkness of the cab and Rose andHenrietta followed. 'Mind my toes, ' Caroline said. 'Susan, tell thatdisagreeable fellow to drive on. '

They had not far to go, but the man did not hurry his horse. Othercabs passed them on the road, motor-cars whizzed by. 

'We shall be dreadfully late, ' Henrietta sighed. 

'I am always late for balls, ' Caroline said calmly. 

Rose, leaning back in her corner, could see Henrietta's profileagainst the window-pane. Her lips were parted, she leaned forwardeagerly. 'We shall miss a dance, ' she murmured. 

Caroline coughed. 'Oh, dear, ' Sophia moaned. 'Caroline, you should bein bed. '

'You're a silly old woman, ' Caroline retorted. 

'But you'll promise not to sit in a draught; Henrietta, see that yourAunt Caroline doesn't sit in a draught. ' But Henrietta was lettingdown the window, for the cab had drawn up before the portals of theAssembly Rooms. 

In the cloak-room, Rose and Henrietta slipped off their wraps, glancedin the mirror, and were ready, but there were anxious littlewhisperings and consultations on the part of the elder ladies andHenrietta cast a despairing glance at Rose. Would they never be ready?But at last Caroline uttered a majestic 'Now' and led the way like aplump duck swimming across a pond with a fleet of smaller ducks behindher. 

No expense and no trouble had been spared to justify the expectationsof Radstowe. The antechamber was luxuriously carpeted, arm-chaired, cushioned, palmed and screened, and the hired flunkey at the ballroomdoor had a presence and a voice fitted for the occasion. 

'Miss Mallett!' he bawled. 'Miss Sophia Mallett! Miss Rose Mallett!Miss Henrietta Mallett!'

The moment had come. Henrietta lifted her head, settled her shouldersand prepared to meet the eyes of Francis Sales. The Malletts hadarrived between the first and second dances and the guests sittinground the walls had an uninterrupted view of the stately entrance. Mrs. Batty, in diamonds and purple satin, greeted the late-comers withenthusiasm and James Batty escorted Caroline and Sophia to arm-chairsthat had all the appearance of thrones. Mrs. Batty patted Henrietta onthe shoulder. 

'Pretty dear, ' she said. 'Here you are at last. There are a lot ofboys with their programmes half empty till you come, and my Charles, too. Not that he's much for dancing. I've told him he must look afterthe ugly ones. We're going to have a quadrille for your aunts' sake!'And then, whispering, she asked, 'What do you think of it? I said ifwe had it at all, we'd have it good. '

'It's gorgeous!' Henrietta said, and off the stage she had never seena grander spectacle. The platform at the end of the room was bankedwith flowers and behind them uniformed and much-moustached musiciansplayed with ardour, with rapture, their eyes closing sentimentally inthe choicest passages. Baskets of flowers hung from the chandeliers, the floor was polished to the slipperiness of ice and Mrs. Batty, onher hospitable journeys to and fro, was in constant danger of a fall. 

The society of Radstowe, all in new garments, appeared to Henrietta ofa dazzling brilliance, but she stood easily, holding her head high, asthough she were well used to this kind of glory. Looking round, shesaw Francis Sales leaning against a wall, talking to his partner andsmiling with unnecessary amiability. A flame of jealousy flickeredhotly through her body. How could he smile like that? Why did he notcome to her? And then, in the pride of her secret love, she rememberedthat he dare not show his eagerness. They belonged to each other, theywere alone in their love, and all these people, talking, laughing, fluttering fans, thinking themselves of immense importance, had noreal existence. He and she alone of all that company existed with afierceness that changed the sensuous dance-music into the cry ofessential passion. 

Young men approached her and wrote their initials on her programmewhich was already marked with little crosses against the numbers shehad promised to Francis Sales. Charles Batty, rather hot, anxious andglowering, arrived too late. His angry disgust, his sense ofdesertion, were beyond words. He stared at her. 'And my flowers, ' hedemanded. 

'Charles, don't shout. '

'Where are my flowers? I sent some--roses and lilies and maidenhair. Where are they?'

'I haven't seen them. '

'Ah, I suppose you didn't like them, but the girl in the shop told methey would be all right. How should I know?'

'I haven't seen them, ' she repeated. Over his shoulder she saw thefigure of Francis Sales coming towards her. 

'I ordered them yesterday, ' Charles continued loudly. 'I'll kill thatgirl. I'll go at once. '

'The shop will be shut, ' Henrietta reminded him. 'Oh, do be quiet, Charles. ' She turned with a smile for Francis. 

'She hasn't a dance left, ' Charles said. 

'Mr. Sales took the precaution of booking them in advance, ' Henriettasaid lightly, and with a miserable gesture Charles went off, muttering, 'I hadn't thought of that. Why didn't some one tell me?'

§ 5

That ball was to be known in Nelson Lodge as the one that killed MissCaroline, but Miss Caroline had her full share of pleasure out of it. It was the custom in Radstowe to make much of Caroline and Sophia:they were respected and playfully loved and it was not only themiddle-aged gentlemen who asked them to dance, and John and CharlesBatty were not the only young ones who had the honour of leading theminto the middle of the room, taking a few turns in a waltz andreturning, in good order, to the throne-like arm-chairs. Francis Saleshad their names on his programme, but with him they used the privilegeof old friends and preferred to talk. 

'You can keep your dancing for Rose and Henrietta, ' Caroline said. 

'He comes too late for me, ' Rose said pleasantly. He gave hersomething remarkably like one of his old looks and she answered itwith a grave one. There was gnawing trouble at her heart. She hadwatched his meeting with Henrietta. It had been wordless; everythingwas understood. She had also seen the unhappiness of Charles Batty, and, on an inspiration, she said to him, 'Charles, you must take pityon an old maid. I have all these dances to give away. '

For him this dance was to be remembered as the beginning of hisfriendship with Rose Mallett; but at the moment he was merely annoyedat being prevented from watching Henrietta's dark head appearing anddisappearing among the other dancers like that of a bather in a roughsea. He said, 'Oh, thank you very much. Are you sure there's nobodyelse? But I suppose there can't be'; and holding her at arm's length, he ambled round her, treading occasionally on her toes. He apologized:he was no good at dancing: he hoped he had not hurt her slippers, orher feet. 

She paused and looked down at them. 'You mustn't do that to Henrietta. Her slippers are yellow and you would spoil them. '

'She isn't giving me a single dance!' he burst out. 'I asked her to, but I never thought I ought to get a promise. Nobody told me. Nobodytells me anything. '

An icily angry gentleman remonstrated with him for standing in thefairway and Rose suggested that they should sit down. 

'You see, I'm no good. I can't dance. I can't please her. '

'Charles, you're still in the way. Let us go somewhere quiet and thenyou can tell me all about it. '

He took her to a small room leading from the big one. 'I'll shut thedoor, ' he said, 'and then we shan't hear that hideous din. '

'It is a very good band. '

'It's profane, ' Charles said wearily. 'Music--they call it music!' Hewas off at a great pace and she did not try to hold him in. She layback in the big chair and seemed to study the toes on which CharlesBatty had trampled. His voice rolled on like the sound of water, companionable and unanswerable. Suddenly his tone changed. 'Henriettais very unkind to me. '

'Is there any reason why she shouldn't be?'

'I do everything I can think of. I've told her all about myself. '

'She would rather hear about herself. '

'I've done that, too. Perhaps I haven't done it enough. I've given herchocolates and flowers. What else ought I to do?'

Her voice, very calm and clear after his spluttering, said, 'Not toomuch. '

'Oh!' This was a new idea. 'Oh! I never thought of that. Why--'

She interrupted his usual cry. 'Women are naturally cruel. '

'Are they? I didn't know that either. ' He swallowed the informationvisibly. She could almost see the process of digestion. 'Oh!' he saidagain. 

'They don't mean to be. They are simply untouched by a love they don'treturn. ' She added thoughtfully: 'And inclined to despise the lover. '

'That's it, ' he mourned. 'She despises me. ' And in a louder voice hedemanded, not of Rose Mallett, but of the mysterious world in which hegropingly existed, 'Why should she?'

'She shouldn't, but perhaps you yourself are making a mistake. '

She heard indistinctly the word, 'Impossible. '

'You can't be sure. '

'I'm quite certain about that--about nothing else. ' His big handsmoved. 'I cling to that. '

'Then you must be ready to serve her. Charles, if I ever needed you--'

'I'd do anything for you because you're her aunt. And besides, ' hesaid simply, 'you're rather like her in the face. '

'Thank you, but it's her you may have to serve--and not me. I want herto be happy. I don't know where her happiness is, but I know where itis not. Some day I may tell you. ' She looked at him. He might beuseful as an ally; she was sure he could be trusted. 'Promise you willdo anything I ask for her sake. '

He turned the head which had been sunk on his crumpled shirt. 'Isanything the matter?' he asked, concerned, and more alert than she hadever seen him. 

She said, 'Hush!' for the door behind was opening and it let in amurmur of voices and a rush of cold, fresh air. Rose shivered and, looking round, she saw Henrietta and Francis Sales. Her cloak was halfon and half off her shoulders, her colour was very high and her eyeswere not so dazzled by the light that she did not immediatelyrecognize her aunt. It was Francis Sales who hesitated and Rose saidquickly, 'Oh, please shut the door. '

He obeyed and stood by Henrietta's side, a pleasing figure, lookingtaller and more finely made in his black clothes. 

'Have you been on the terrace?'

'Yes, it's a glorious night. '

'You'll get cold, ' Charles said severely. She had been out there withthe man who murdered music and who, therefore, was a scoundrel, andCharles's objection was based on that fact and not on Francis Sales'smarried state. He had not the pleasure of feeling a pious indignationthat a man with an invalid wife walked on the terrace with Henrietta. He would have said, 'Why not?' and he would have found an excuse forany man in the beauty, the wonder, the enchantment of that girl, though he could not forgive Henrietta for her friendship with theslaughterer of music and of birds. 

He glared and repeated, 'You'll be ill. '

Henrietta pretended not to hear him, and Rose said thoughtfully andslowly, 'Oh, no, Charles, people don't get cold when they are happy. '

'I suppose not. ' He felt in a vague way that he and Rose, sittingthere, for he had forgotten to stand up, were united against the othertwo who stood, very clear, against the gold-embossed wall of the room, and that those two were conscious of the antagonism. They also wereunited and he felt an increase of his dull pain at the sight of theircomeliness, the suspicion of their likeness to each other. 'I supposenot, ' Charles said, and after that no one spoke, as though it wereimpossible to find a light word, and unnecessary. 

Each one was aware of conflict, of something fierce and silent goingon, but it was Rose who understood the situation best and Charles whounderstood it least. His feelings were torturing but simple. He wantedHenrietta and he could not get her: he did not please her, and thatSales, that Philistine, that handsome, well-made, sulky-looking beggarknew how to do it. 

But Rose was conscious of the working of four minds: there was herown, sore with the past and troubled by a present in which her loverconcealed his discomfiture under the easy sullenness of his pose. He, too, had the past shared with her to haunt him, but he had also apresent bright with Henrietta's allurements yet darkly streaked withprohibitions, struggles and surrenders, and Rose saw that the worsttragedy was his and hers. It must not be Henrietta's. In their youthshe and Francis had misunderstood, and in their maturity they hadfailed, each other; it was the fault of neither and Henrietta must notbe the victim of their folly. Looking at the big fan of black feathersspread on her knee, Rose smiled a little, with a maternal tenderness. Henrietta was her father's daughter, wilful and lovable, but she wasalso the daughter of that mother who had been good and loving. Henrietta had her father's passion for excitement but, being a woman, she had the greater need of being loved, and Rose raised her eyes andlooked at Charles with an ironical appreciation of his worthiness, ofhis comicality. She saw him with Henrietta's eyes, and her whiteshoulders lifted and dropped in resignation. Then she looked atHenrietta and smiled frankly. 'Another dance has begun, ' she said. 'Somebody must be looking for you. '

'No, ' Henrietta said, 'it's with Mr. Sales, ' and turning to him withthe effect of ignoring Rose, she said in a clear voice which becameslightly harsh as she saw him gazing at her aunt oddly, almost asthough he were astonished by a new sight, 'Shall we go back to theterrace or shall we dance?'

'You'll get cold, ' Charles said again angrily. 

'Let us dance, ' Sales said. 

The door to the ball-room closed behind them and Charles let out agroan. 'You see!' he said. 

Rose hoped he did not see too much and she was reassured when headded, 'She takes no notice of me. '

'Poor Charles, but you know you treat her a little like a child. Youshouldn't talk of catching cold. You're too material. '

She was surprised to hear him say with a sort of humble pride, 'Onlybefore other people. She's heard me different. ' Then, dropping intothe despair of his own thoughts, and with the rage of one feelinghimself sinking hopelessly, he cried out, 'It's like pouring waterthrough a sieve. '

The voice of Rose, very calm and wise, said gently, 'Continue topour. '

'It's all very fine, ' he muttered. 

'Continue to pour. It may be all you can do, but it is worth while. '

'I told her I would do that, one night, on the hill. She said shedidn't want it. '

'She doesn't know, ' Rose said in the same voice, comforting in itsquietness. She stood up. 'We had better go back now, and remember, youpromise to do for her anything I ask of you. '

'Of course, ' he said, 'but I shall do it wrong. '

She laid her hand on his arm. 'It must be done rightly. It must. Itwill be. Now take me back. '

He resigned her unwillingly, for he felt that she was his strength, tothe partner who claimed her, but as she prepared to dance, Charlesreturned hurriedly and, ignoring the affronted gentleman who hadalready clasped her, he said anxiously, 'This service--what is it? Isthere something wrong?'

She looked deeply into his eyes. 'There must not be. '

And now, for him in the sea of dancers, there were two dark headsbobbing among the waves. 

The hours sped by; the lavish supper was consumed; dresses and flowerslost their freshness; the musicians lost their energetic ardour; theman at the piano was seen to yawn cavernously above the keys. Theguests began to depart, leaving an exhausted but happy Mrs. Batty. Shehad been complimented by Miss Mallett on the perfection of herarrangements, on the brilliance of the assembly, on the music and evenon the refreshments, and Mrs. Batty had blessed her own perseveranceagainst Mr. Batty's obstinacy in the matter of the supper. He hadwanted light refreshments and she had insisted on a knife-and-forkaffair, and Miss Caroline had actually remarked on the wisdom of asolid meal. She had no patience with snacks. Mrs. Batty intended tolull Mr. Batty to slumber with that quotation. 

In the cab, as the Malletts jolted home in the care of the same surlydriver, Caroline complaisantly spoke of her congratulations. She wouldnot have said so much to anybody else, but she knew Mrs. Batty wouldbe pleased. 

'So she was, dear, ' Sophia said, but her more delicate social sensewas troubled. 'Though I do think one ought to treat everybody as onewould treat the greatest lady in the land. I think we ought to havetaken for granted that everything would be correct. '

'Rubbish! You must treat people as they want to be treated. She waspanting for praise, and she got it, and anyhow it's too late toargue. '

They had stayed to the end so that Henrietta's pleasure should not becurtailed, and now she was leaning back, very white and still. 

'I believe the child's asleep, ' Sophia whispered. 

'No, I'm not. I'm wide awake. '

'Did you enjoy it, dear?'

'Very much, ' said Henrietta. 

'I kept my eye on you, child, ' Caroline said. 

Henrietta made an effort. 'I kept my eye on you, Aunt Caroline. I sawyou flirting with Mr. Batty. '

'Impudence! Sophia, do you hear her? I only danced with him twice, though I admit he hovered round my chair. They always did. I can'thelp it. We're all like that. You should have seen your father at aball! There was no one like him. Such an air! Ah, here we are. Isuppose this disagreeable cabman must be tipped. '

'I'll see to that, ' Rose said. It was the first time she had spoken. 'Be quick, Caroline. Don't stand in the cold. '

'The dancing has done me good, ' Caroline said, and she lingered on thepavement to look at the stars, holding her skirts high in the happyknowledge of her unrivalled legs and feet. 'No, Sophia, I am not cold, or tired; but yes, I'll take a little soup. '

They sat round the roaring fire prepared for them and drank the soupout of fine old cups. Caroline chattered; she was gay; she believedshe had been a great success; young men had paid court to her; she hadrapped at least one of them with her fan; a grey-haired man had talkedto her of her lively past. But Sophia had much ado to prevent herheavy head from nodding. Henrietta was silent, very busy with herthoughts and careful to avoid the eyes of Rose. 

'I think, ' Caroline said, 'we ought to give a little dance. We couldhave this carpet up. Just a little dance--'

'But Henrietta and I, ' Rose said distinctly, 'are going away. '

'Oh, nonsense! You must put it off. We ought to give a dance for thechild. Now, how many couples? Ten, at least. Sophia, you're asleep. '

'No, dear. A party. I heard. But if you're ready now, I think I'll goto bed. '

'Go along. I'll follow. '

'Oh, no, Caroline, we always go together. '

'Well, well, I'll come, but I could stay here and talk for hours. Icould always sit you out and dance you out, couldn't I?'

'Yes, dear. You're wonderful. Such spirit!'

They kissed Rose; they both kissed Henrietta on each cheek. 

'A little dance, ' Caroline repeated, and patted Henrietta's arm. 'Goodchild, ' she murmured. 

Henrietta went upstairs behind them, slowly, not to overtake Sophia. She did not want to be left down there with Aunt Rose. She wantedsolitude, and she knew now what people meant when they talked of beingin a dream. Under her hand the slim mahogany rail felt like the cold, firm hand of Francis Sales when, after their last dance together, hehad led her on to the terrace again. They were alone there, for thewind was very cold, but for Henrietta it was part of the exquisitemantle in which she was wrapped. She was wrapped in the glamour of thenight and the stars and the excitement of the dance, yet suddenly, looking down at the dark river, she was chilled. She said, and hervoice seemed to be carried off by the wind, 'Aunt Rose is going totake me away. '

He bent down to her. 'What did you say?'

She put her lips close to his ear. 'Aunt Rose is going to take meaway. '

He dropped her hand. 'She can't do that. '

'But she will. I shall have to go, ' and he said gloomily, 'I knew youwould leave me, too. ' She felt helpless and lonely: her happiness hadgone; the wind had risen. She said loudly, 'It's not my fault. Whatcan I do? I shall come back. '

He stood quite still and did not look at her. 'You don't think of me. '

'I think of nothing else. How can I tell her I can't leave you? Shehas been good to me. '

'She was once good to me, too. That won't last long. '

'Ah, that's not true!' she cried. 

'Go, then, if she's more to you than I am. I'm used to that. '

She moved away from him. Why did he not help her? He was a man; heloved her, but he was cruel. Ah, the thought warmed her, it was hislove that made him cruel: he needed her; he was lonely. Under hercloak, she clasped her gloved hands in a helplessness which must beconquered. What shall I do? she asked the stars. Across the river thecliff was sombre; it seemed to listen and to disapprove. The starswere kinder: they twinkled, they laughed, they understood, and thelights on the bridge glowed steadily with reassurance. She turned backto Francis Sales. 'You must trust me, ' she said firmly. He put hishands heavily on her shoulders. 'I won't let you go. '

A murmur, inarticulate and delighted, escaped her lips. This was whatshe wanted. Very small and willing to be commanded, she leaned againsthim. 'What will you do with me?' she whispered, secure in hisstrength. She laughed. 'You will have to take me away yourself!'

'You wouldn't come, ' he said with unexpected seriousness. 

So close to him that the wind could not steal the words, she answered, 'I would do anything for one I loved. '

The memory of her own voice, its tenderness and seduction, startledher in the solitude of her room. She had not known she could speaklike that. She dropped her face into her hands, and in the rapture ofher own daring and in the recollection of the excitement which hadfrozen them into a stillness through which the beating of their heartssounded like a faint tap of drums, there came the doubt of hersincerity. 

Had she really meant what she said? Yet she could have said nothingelse. The words had left her lips involuntarily, her voice, as thoughof itself, had taken on that tender tone. She could not have failed inthat dramatic moment, but now she was half afraid of her undertaking. Well, her hands dropped to her sides, she had given her word; she hadpromised herself in an heroic surrender and her very doubts seemed tosanctify the act. 

For a long time she sat by the fire, half undressed, her immature thinarms hanging loosely, her sombre eyes staring at the fire. She wishedthis night might go on for ever, this time of ecstasy between apromise and its fulfilment. She had seen disillusionment in anotherand did not laugh at its possibility for herself; it would come toher, she thought, as it had come to her mother, who had hoped herdaughter would find happiness in love; and Henrietta wondered if thatgentle spirit was aware of what was happening. 

The thought troubled her a little, and from her mother, who had been aneglected wife, it was no more than a step to that other, lying on herback, tortured and lonely. If Christabel Sales had a daughter, whatwould be her fierce young thoughts about this thief, sitting by thefire in a joy which was half misery? Yet she was no thief: she wasonly picking up what would otherwise be wasted. It seemed to her thatlife was hardly more than a perpetual and painful choice. Some one hadto be hurt, and why should it not be Christabel? Or was she hurtenough already? And again, what good would she get from Henrietta'ssacrifice? No one would gain except Henrietta herself, she could seethat plainly, and she was prepared to suffer; she was anxious tosuffer and be justified. 

The coals in the grate began to fade, the room was cold and she wastired. Slowly she continued her undressing, throwing down her daintygarments with the indifference of her fatigue. She feared her thoughtswould stand between her and sleep, but, when she lay down, warmthgradually stole over her and soothed her into forgetfulness. Sheslept, but she waked to unusual sounds in the house: a door opened, there were footsteps on the landing and then a voice, shrill andfrightened. She jumped out of bed. Sophia was on the landing; Rose wasjust opening her door; Susan, decently covered by a puritanicaldressing-gown, had been roused by the noise. Caroline was in pain, Sophia said. She was breathing with great difficulty. 'I told her sheought to take a shawl, ' Sophia sobbed. 

Fires had to be lighted, water boiled and flannels warmed, and thevoice of Caroline was heard in gasping expostulation. Henriettadressed quickly. 'I'm going for the doctor, ' she told Rose, who wasalready putting on her coat, and Henrietta noticed that she still woreher evening gown. She had not been to bed, and for a moment Henriettaforgot her Aunt Caroline and stared at her Aunt Rose. 

'I am going, ' Rose said quietly. 'Oh, hadn't you better stay here?Aunt Sophia is in such a fuss. '

'We'll go together, ' Rose said. 'I can't let you go alone. '

Henrietta laughed a little. This care was so unnecessary for one whohad given herself to a future full of peril. 

They went out in the cold darkness of the morning, walking very fastand now and then breaking into a run, and with them there walked ashadowy third person, keeping them apart. It was strange to be yokedtogether by Caroline's danger and securely separated by this shadow. They did not speak, they had nothing to say, yet both thought, Whatdifference is this going to make? But on their way back, when thedoctor had been roused and they had his promise to come quickly, Henrietta's fear burst the bonds of her reserve. 'You don't think sheis going to die, do you?'

Rose put her arm through Henrietta's. 'Oh, Henrietta, I hope not. No, no, I'm not going to believe that, 'and, temporarily united, the thirdperson left behind though following closely, they returned to thelighted house. As they stood in the hall they could hear the raspingsound of Caroline's breathing. 

§ 6

John Gibbs, of Sales Hall, milkman and news carrier, shook his headover the cans that morning. Mrs. Sales was very bad. The master hadfetched the doctor in the early morning. He had set out in the samecar that brought him from the dance. Cook and Susan looked at eachother with a compression of lips and a nodding of heads, implying thatmisfortune never came singly, but they did not tell John Gibbs of theillness in their own house. They had imbibed something of the Mallettreserve and they did not wish the family affairs to be blabbed atevery house in Radstowe. But when the man had gone, Susan remindedCook of her early disapproval of that ball. It would kill MissCaroline, it would kill Mrs. Sales. 

'She wasn't there, poor thing, ' Cook said. 

'But he was, gallivanting. I dare say it upset her. '

Susan was right. Christabel Sales had fretted herself into one of herheart attacks; but the Malletts did not know this until later. Atpresent they were concerned with Caroline, about whom the doctor wasreassuring. She was very ill, but she had herself remarked that ifthey were expecting her to die they would be disappointed, and thatwas the spirit to help recovery. 

A nurse was installed in the sick-room, Sophia fluttered a little lessand Rose and Henrietta ignored their emotion of the early morning;they also avoided each other. They were both occupied with the sameproblem, though Henrietta's thoughts had taken definite shape; aboveher dreaming, her practical mind was dealing with concrete details, and Rose was merely speculating on the future, and the more shespeculated, the surer she became of the necessity to interfere. Herplan of carrying Henrietta to other lands was frustrated for thepresent by Caroline's illness and she dared not allow things to drift. There was a smouldering defiance in Henrietta's manner: she wasabsorbed yet wary; she seemed to have a grudge against the aunt whohad missed nothing at the dance, who had seen her exits and entranceswith Francis Sales and interrupted their farewell glance, the wave ofHenrietta's gloved hand towards the tall figure standing in the porchof the Assembly Rooms to see her depart. 

There was a certain humour about the situation, and for Rose animpeding feeling of hypocrisy. Here she was, determined to putobstacles on the primrose path where she herself once had dallied. Itlooked like the envy of age for youth, it looked like inclining tovirtue because the opposite was no longer possible for her, like tardyloyalty to Christabel; but she must not be hampered by appearances. 

Her chief fear was of hardening Henrietta's temper, and she came tothe conclusion that she must appeal to Francis Sales himself. It wasan unpleasant task and, she dimly felt, she hardly knew why, adangerous one; and meeting Henrietta that day at meals or in thehushed quiet of the passages, she felt herself a traitor to the girl. After all, what right had she to interfere? She had no right, and herdouble excuse was her knowledge of Francis Sales' character and hercertainty that Henrietta was chiefly moved by her dramatic instinct. And again Rose wished that the hair of Charles Batty's head werethicker and that he could supply the counter-attraction needed; butshe might at least be able to use him; there was no one else. 

That night, after an evening spent in soothing Sophia's fears whichhad been roused by the unnatural gentleness of Caroline, and treatingHenrietta to all the friendliness she would receive, Rose went out topost a letter to Francis Sales. She had asked him, with an irony shehad no doubt he would miss, to meet her in the hollow where thegipsies had encamped and where so many of their interviews had takenplace. It was within a few yards of that bank of primroses where hehad asked her to marry him. 

Caroline was better the next morning and it was easy for Rose toescape. She chose to ride. It was one of those mild January days whichalready promise the return of spring. Birds chirped in the leaflesstrees, the earth was damp and seemed to stir with the efforts ofinnumerable roots to produce a richer life, yet the leaves of autumnwere still lying on the ground. How she loved this country, this blueair, this smell of fruit present even before the blossom was on thetrees, the sight of wood smoke curling from the cottage chimneys, thevery ruts in the road! A little while ago she had told herself she wassickened by it: it was the symbol of failure and young, tender, ruinedhopes, but the love of it lay deeply in her heart; all this, thefailure and the ruin, were of her life and it could be no more castoff than could the hands which had refused the kissing and clasping ofFrancis Sales. 

This was her own country: the strange, unbridled, stealthy wildness ofit was in her blood; it was in Henrietta through her father, it was inFrancis, too, and due to it was this tragic muddle in which they foundthemselves. She had a faint, despairing feeling that she could notfight against it, that her mission would only be another failure, yetshe counted on Francis's easy tenderness of heart. The very weaknesswhich persuaded him to an action could turn him from it, and it was tohis tenderness she must appeal. 

She reached the track and, raised high on her horse, she could see thefields with the rough grass and gorse bushes sloping to the channel;the pale strip of water like silver melted in the heart of the hillsand falling slowly to the sea; the blue hills themselves like gateskeeping a fair country. The place where the wood had been was like abrown and purple rug, but before long the pattern would be complicatedby creeping green. Where the trees had murmured and whispered or stoodsilent, listening, there was now no sound, no secrecy; the place laycandidly under the wide sky, but, from a field out of sight, a sheepbleated disconsolately, with a sound of infinite, uncomprehending woe, and a steamer in the river sent out a distant hoot of answeringderision. 

The gipsies had departed; the ashes of their fire made a black patchon the ground and a few rags fluttered in the wind. There was no humanbeing in sight and she rode down the slope to wait in the hollow. Shewas beginning to wonder if Francis had received her letter when, witha dreary sense of watching a familiar scene reacted, she saw him inthe lane with Henrietta by his side. Here was an unexpecteddifficulty, and she could do nothing but ride towards them, raisingher whip in greeting. 

She said at once to Francis, 'Did you get my letter?' She sawHenrietta's face flush angrily, but she knew that the time had comefor her to speak. 'I asked you to meet me here. '

He was staring at her and his mouth moved mechanically. 'No, I didn'tget it by the first post. Perhaps it's there now. ' With his eyes stillfixed on her, he moved back a step. 

'No. ' Rose smiled. 'Don't go and get it. Fortunately you are here. Iwant to talk to you, Henrietta, please--' Her voice was gentle, sheleaned forward in the saddle with a charming gesture of request, butHenrietta shook her head. She was antagonized by that charm which washolding Francis's eyes. A loosened curl had fallen over her forehead, giving to the severity of her dress, copied from that portrait of herfather, a dishevelling touch, as though a young lady were suddenlydiscovered to be a gipsy in an evil frame of mind. 

'If it's anything to do with me, I'm going to stay, ' she said. 'If ithasn't, I'll go. ' She looked at Francis and added, between her teeth, 'But it must have. ' Those words and that look claimed him for her own. 

Rose lifted her chin and looked over the two heads, the uncovered oneof Francis Sales and Henrietta's, with her hat a little askew, and, absurdly, Rose remembered that the child had washed her hair the nightbefore: that was why the hat was crooked and the curl loose, makingthe scene undignified and funny above the pain of it. Rose spoke in avoice heightened by a tone. 'It concerns you both, ' she said. 

'Ah, then, you needn't say it, need she, Francis?'

'Francis, ' she repeated the name with a grave humour, 'this is notfair to Henrietta. '

'I know that, ' he muttered, and Rose saw Henrietta shoot at him a thinlook of scorn. 

Henrietta said, 'But I don't care about that, and anyhow, we're notgoing to do it any more. We're tired of these meetings'--she facedhim--'aren't we? We had just made up our minds to have no more ofthem. '

'I'm glad of that, ' said Rose, and she fancied that the hurriedbeating of her heart must be plain through the thick stuff of hercoat. 

Henrietta laughed, showing little teeth, and Rose thought, 'Her teethare too small. They spoil her. '

'No, you need not spy on us any more, ' Henrietta said. 

Francis made a movement of distaste. He said, as though the words costhim much labour, 'Henrietta, don't. '

But there seemed to be no limit to what Rose could bear. She stoopedforward suddenly and put her cheek against the horse's neck in animpulsive need to express affection, perhaps to get it. 

'You think I don't understand, ' she said quietly, 'but I do, toowell. ' She paused, and in her overpowering sense of helplessness, ofdistrust, she found herself making, without a quiver, the confessionof her own foolishness. 

'I don't know whether Francis has told you that he and I were once inlove with one another. At least that is what we called it. ' Very pale, appearing to have grown thinner in that moment, she looked at thehorse's ears and spoke as though she and Henrietta were alone. 'Untilquite lately. Then he realized, we both realized, our mistake. But itseems that Francis must have somebody to--to meet, to kiss. Between meand you there has been some one else. ' With a wave of her hand, sheput aside that thought. 'We used to meet here often. This place mustbe full of memories for him. For me, the whole countryside isscattered with little broken bits of love. It breaks so easily, or itmay be only the counterfeit that breaks. Anyhow, it broke, it chipped. I thought you ought to know that. ' She touched her horse with her heeland turned down the lane. She went slowly, sitting very straight, butshe had the constant expectation of being shot in the back. She had toremind herself that Henrietta had no weapon but her eyes. 

It was those eyes Francis Sales chiefly remembered when he had partedfrom Henrietta and turned homewards. There had been scorn in them, anger, grief, jealousy and expectation. If she had not been so small, if they had not been raised to his, if he could have looked levellyinto them as he did into the clear grey eyes of Rose, things mighthave been different. But she was little and she had clung to him, looking up. She had told him she could never see her Aunt Rose again. How could she? Was he sure he did not love Rose still? Was he sure? Heought to be, for it was he who had made Henrietta love him. He hadliked that tribute too much to contradict it, but Rose Mallett wasright: whoever had been the promoter of this business, it was not fairto Henrietta, and the thought of Rose, so white and straight, was likewind after a sultry day. She was like a church, he thought; a dimchurch with tall pillars losing themselves in the loftiness of theroof; yes, that was what was the matter with her: she was cold, butthere was no one like her, you could not forget her even in the warmthof Henrietta's presence. One way and another, these Malletts torturedhim. 

He walked home, trying to find some way out of this maze of promisesto Henrietta and of self-reproach, and his mental wanderings wereinterrupted by an unwelcome request from the nurse that he should goat once to Mrs. Sales. She seemed, the woman warned him, to be verymuch excited: would he please be careful? She must not have anotherheart attack. 

As he entered the room, it seemed to him that he had been treading onegg-shells all his life, but a sudden pity swept him at the sight ofhis wife, very weak from the pain of the night before last, yetintensely, almost viciously alive. He wished he had not gone to theBattys' ball; it had upset her and done him no good. If it had notbeen for that walk on the terrace--

He shut the door gently and stood by her. 'Are you in pain?' he asked. He felt remorsefully that he did not know how to treat her; he had notlove enough, yet with all his heart he wanted to be kind. 

'You haven't kissed me to-day, ' she said. 'No, don't do it. You don'twant to, do you?'

'Yes, I do, ' he said, and as he bent over her he was touched by thecontented sigh she gave. If he could begin over again, he toldhimself, with the virtue of the man who has committed himself fatally, things would be different. If he hadn't brought Henrietta to such apass, they should be different now. 

'I've never stopped being fond of you, Christabel. '

She laughed and disconcerted him. 'Or of your horses, or your dogs, 'she said. 'No one could expect you to care much for a useless log likeme. No one could have expected you not to go to that dance. ' Tearsfilled her eyes. 'But I was lonely. And I imagined you there--'

'I wish I hadn't gone, ' he said truthfully. 

She seemed to consider that remark, but presently she asked, 'Have youlost something?'

He had lost a great deal, for Rose despised him; that had been plainin the face which once had been so soft for him. 

'I asked you, ' Christabel said, 'if you had lost something. '

'Yes--no, nothing. '

She let out a small piercing shriek. 'You're lying, lying! But whyshould I care? You've done that for years. And Rose has been so kind, hasn't she, coming to see me every week? Take your letter, Francis. Yes, I've read it! I don't care. I'm helpless. Take it!' From itshiding-place under the coverlet she drew the letter and threw it athim. It fluttered feebly to the ground. She had made a tremendouseffort, trying to fling it in his face, and it had fallen as mildly asa snowflake. She began to sob. This was the climax of her suffering, that it should fall like that. 

He picked it up and read it. It was no good trying to explain, for oneexplanation would only necessitate another. He was deeply in the mire, they were both, they were all in it, and he did not know how to getanybody out, but he had to stop that sobbing somehow. His pity forChristabel swelled into his biggest feeling. He crumpled the letterangrily and, at the sound, she held her breathing for a moment. Ofcourse, she should have crumpled the letter and then she might havehit him with it. 

'I wish to God I'd never seen her, ' she heard him say with despairinganger. And then, more gently, 'Don't cry, Christabel. I can't bear tohear you. The letter's nothing. I shall never meet her again. I musttake more care of you. ' He took her hand and stroked it. He wouldnever meet Rose again, but he had an appointment with Henrietta. 

'You promise? But no, it doesn't matter if you love her. '

'I don't love her. '

'But you did. '

He passed his free hand across his forehead. No, he would not keepthat appointment with Henrietta, or he would only keep it to tell herit was impossible. He could not go with this wailing in his ears andhe knew that piteous sound was his salvation. It gave him the strengthto appear weak. 'Don't cry. It's all right, Christabel. Look, I'llburn the confounded letter and I swear it's the only one I've ever hadfrom her. 'It was to Rose, he admitted miserably, that he owed thepossibility of telling that truth. 

Her weeping became quieter. 'Tell her, ' she articulated, 'I never wantto see her again. '

'But, ' he said petulantly, 'haven't I just told you I never want tomeet her?'

'Then write--write--I don't mind Henrietta. '

'No!' he almost shouted, 'not Henrietta either!'

She turned to him a face ravaged with tears and misery. 'Why notHenrietta?' she whispered. 

'I hate the lot of them, ' he muttered. 'They're all witches. '

She laughed joyously. 'That's what I've said myself!' She gave himboth her thin, hot hands to hold. 'But it's worth while, all this, ifyou are going to be good to me. '

He kissed her then as the sinner kisses the saint who has wrought amiracle of salvation for him. 'We've had bad luck, ' he murmured. 'You've had the worst of it. ' He stroked her cheek. 'Poor littlething. '

§ 7

Once out of sight of the two standing in the lane, Rose rode homequickly. She felt she had a great deal to do, but she did not knowwhat it was. Her head was hot with the turmoil of her thoughts. Therewas no order in them; the past was mixed with the present, the donewith the undone: she was assailed by the awful conviction that rightwas prolific in producing wrong. If she had not preserved her ownphysical integrity, these two, who were almost like her children--yes, that was how she felt towards them--would not have been tempted tosuch folly. For it was folly: they did not love each other, and sheremembered, with a sickening pang, the expression with which Francishad looked at her. She told herself he loved her still; he had neverloved anybody else and she had only pity and protection and adeep-rooted fondness to give him in return. She cared more passionatelyfor Henrietta, who was now the victim of the superficial chastity onwhich Rose had insisted. 

If she had known that Henrietta was to suffer, she would have subduedher niceness, for if Francis had been in physical possession of herbody, she would have had no difficulty in possessing his mind. Holdingnothing back, she could also have held him securely. She did not wanthim, but Henrietta would have been saved. But then Rose had not known:how could she? And Henrietta might be saved yet, she must be saved. The obvious method was to lay siege to the facile heart of Francis, but there was no time for that. Rose was not deceived by Henrietta'senigmatic words. They were tired of meeting stealthily, she had said. What did that mean? Her head grew hotter. She had to force herselfinto calm, and the old man at the toll-house on the bridge receivedher visual greeting as she passed, but, as she went slowly to thestables, there was added to her anxiety the thrilling knowledge thatat last, and for the first time, she was going to take definiteaction. Her whole life had been a long and dull preparation for thisday. She began to take a pleasure in her excitement: she had somethingto do; she was delivered from the monotony of thought. 

On her way from the stables she met Charles Batty going home for hismidday meal, and she stopped him. 'Charles!' she said. She presentedto his appreciative eyes a very elegant figure in the habit looped upto show her high slim boots, with her thick plait of hair under thehard hat, her complexion defying the whiteness of her stock; while toher he appeared with something of the aspect of an angel in a long topcoat and a hat at the back of his head. 'Charles, ' she said again, tapping her boot with her whip, 'I'm in trouble. Would you mindwalking home by the hill? I want you to help me, but I can't tell youhow. Not yet. '

He walked beside her without speaking and they came to the place wherehe had stood with Henrietta and she had flouted him; whither she hadwandered on her first day in Radstowe, that high point overlooking thegorge, the rocks, the trees, the river; that scene of which notCharles, nor Rose, nor Henrietta could ever tire. 

'Not, yet, ' she repeated. 'Will you meet me this afternoon?'

'Look here, ' he remonstrated, 'if Henrietta found out--'

She had not time to smile. 'It's for her sake. '

'I'll do anything, ' he said. 

'Then will you meet me this afternoon at five o'clock? Not here. I maynot be able to get so far. Where can we meet?'

'Well, there's the post-office. Can't mistake that. '

'No, no, I may have something important, very important, Charles, tosay to you. At five o'clock, will you be on The Green? There's a seatby the old monument. It won't take a minute to get there. Are youlistening? On The Green at five o'clock. Come towards me as soon asyou see me and at once we'll walk together towards the avenue. Waittill six, and if I don't come, will you still hold yourself inreadiness at home? Don't forget. Don't be absent-minded and forgetwhat you are there for, and even if there's a barrel-organ playingdreadful tunes, you'll wait there? For Henrietta. '

'I don't understand this about Henrietta. '

'That doesn't matter, not in the least. Now what are yourinstructions?'

He repeated them. 

'Very well. I trust you. '

They separated and she went home, a little amused by her melodramaticconduct, but much comforted by the fact that Charles, though ignorantof his part, was with her in this conspiracy. She was met byreproaches from Sophia. 

'Oh, Rose, riding on such a day! And Henrietta out, too! Suppose we'dwanted something from the chemist!'

'But you didn't, did you? And there are four servants in the house. How is Caroline now?'

'Very quiet. Oh, Rose, she's very ill. She lets me do anything I like. She hasn't a fault to find with me. '

'Let Henrietta sit with her this afternoon while Nurse is out. '

'No, no, Rose, I must do what I can for her. '

'I should like Henrietta to feel she is needed. '

'I don't think Caroline would be pleased. I'll see what she says. '

Caroline was distressingly indifferent but, as Henrietta went to herroom on her return and sent a message that she had a headache and didnot want any food, she was left undisturbed. Sophia became still moreagitated. What was the matter with the child? It would be terrible ifshe were ill, too. Would Rose go and take her temperature? No, Rosewas sure Henrietta would not care for that. She had better be left tosleep. If only she could be put to sleep for a few days!

Now that she was in the house and locked into her room, Rose wasalarmed. She was afraid she had done wrong in making that confession;she had played what seemed to be her strongest card but she had playedit in the wrong way, at the wrong moment. She had surely roused thegirl's antagonism and rivalry, and there came to Rose's memory manylittle scenes in which Reginald Mallett, crossed in his desires, orirritated by reproaches, had suddenly stopped his storming, set hisstubborn mouth and left the house, only to return when need drove himhome. 

But if Henrietta went, and Rose had no doubt of her intention, shewould not come back. She had the unbending pride of her mother'sclass, and Rose's fear was changed into a sense of approachingdesolation. The house would be unbearable without Henrietta. Rosestood on the landing listening to the small sounds from Caroline'sroom and the unbroken silence from Henrietta's. If that room becameempty, the house would be empty too. There would be no swift footstepsup and down the stairs, no bursts of singing, no laughter: she mustnot go; she could not be spared. For a moment Rose forgot FrancisSales's share in the adventure: she could only think of her ownimpending loneliness. 

She went quickly down the stairs and sat in the drawing-room, leavingthe door open, and after an hour or so she heard stealthy sounds fromthe room above; drawers were opened carefully and Henrietta, inslipperless feet, padded across the floor. Rose looked at her watchand rang the bell. 

'Please take a tray to Miss Henrietta's room, ' she told Susan, 'withtea, and sandwiches and, yes, an egg. She had no luncheon. A good, substantial tea, please, Susan. ' If the child were anticipating ajourney, she must be fed. 

A little later she heard Susan knock at Henrietta's door. It was notopened, but the tray was deposited outside with a slight rattle ofchina, and Susan's voice, mildly reproachful, exhorted Miss Henriettato eat and drink. 

At half-past four the tray was still lying there untouched. This meantthat Henrietta was in no hurry, or that she was too indignant to eat:but it might also mean that she had no time. Only half-past four andCharles Batty was not due till five! He might be there already; in hisplace, she would have been there, but men were painfully exact, andfive was the hour she had named. But again, Charles Batty was not anordinary man. Trusting to that fact, she went to her room and providedherself with money, and, having listened without a qualm atHenrietta's door, she ran out of the house. 

The church facing The Green sounded the three-quarters and there, onthe seat by the old stone, sat Charles, his hands in his pockets, hishat pulled over his eyes in a manner likely to rouse suspicions in themildest of policemen. 

He rose. 'Where's your hat?'

'No time, ' she said. 

He repeated his lesson. 'We were to walk towards the avenue. '

'Yes, but I daren't. I want to keep in sight of the house. Come withme. Here's money. Don't lose it. '

He held it loosely. 'Some one's been playing "The Merry Peasant" forhalf an hour, ' he said. 'I'll never sit here again. '

'Charles, take care of the money. You may need it. There's tenpounds--all I had--but perhaps it will be enough. I want you to watchour gate, and if Henrietta goes out, please follow her, but don't let hersee you. '

'Oh, I say!' he murmured. 

'I know. It's hateful, it's abominable, but you must do it. '

'She won't be pleased. '

'You must do it, ' Rose repeated. 

'She's sure to see me. Eyes like needles. '

'She mustn't. She'll probably go by train. If she goes to London, tothis address--I've written it down for you--you may leave her therefor the night and let me know at once. If she goes anywhere else, youmust go with her. Take care of her. I can't tell you exactly what todo because I don't know what's going to happen. She may meet somebody, and then, Charles, you must go with them both. But bring her home ifyou can. Don't go to sleep. Don't compose music in your head. Oh, Charles, this is your chance!'

'Is it? I shall miss it. I always do the wrong thing. '

'Not to-night. ' She smiled at him eagerly, imperiously, trying toendue him with her own spirit. 'Stay here in the shadow. I don't thinkyou will have long to wait, and if you get your chance, if you have totalk to her, don't scold. '

'Scold! It's she that scolds. She bullies me. '

'Ah, not to-night!' she repeated gaily. 

He peered down at her. 'Yes, you are rather like her in the face, specially when you laugh. Better looking, though, ' he addedmournfully. 

'Don't tell her that. '

'Mustn't I? Well, I don't suppose I shall think of it again. '

'Remember that for you she is the best and most beautiful woman in theworld. You can tell her that. '

'The best and most beautiful--yes, ' he said. 'All right. But you'llsee--I'll lose her. Bound to, ' he muttered. 

She put her hand on his arm. 'You'll bring her home, ' she said firmly, and she left him standing monumentally, with his hat awry. 

Charles stood obediently in the place assigned to him, where theshelter of the Malleus' garden wall made his own bulk less conspicuousand whence he could see the gate. The night was mild, but a littlewind had risen, gently rocking the branches of the trees which, in theneighbourhood of the street lamps, cast their shadows monstrously onthe pavements. Their movements gradually resolved themselves intomelody in Charles Batty's mind: the beauty of the reflected andexaggerated twigs and branches was not consciously realized by hiseyes, but the swaying, the sudden ceasing, and the resumption of thatdelicate agitation became music in his ears. He, too, swayed slightlyon his big feet and forgot his business, to remember it with a jerkand a fear that Henrietta had escaped him. Rose had told him he mustnot make music in his head. How had she known he would want to dothat? She must have some faculty denied to him, the same faculty whichwarned her that Henrietta was going to do something strange to-night. 

He felt in his pocket to assure himself of the money's safety. Herearranged his hat and determined to concentrate on watching. The painwhich, varying in degrees, always lived in his bosom, the pain ofmisunderstanding and being misunderstood, of doing the wrong thing, ofmeaning well and acting ill, became acute. He was bound to make amistake; he would lose Henrietta or incense her, though now he wasmore earnest to do wisely than he had ever been. He had told her hewas going to make an art of love, but he knew that art was far fromperfected, and she was incapable of appreciating mere endeavour. Hewas afraid of her, but to-night he was more afraid of failing. 

The music tripped in his head but he would not listen to it. Hestrained his ears for the opening of the Malletts' door, and just asthe sound of the clock striking two steady notes for half-past fivewas fading, as though it were being carried on the light wings of thewind over the big trees, over the green, across the gorge, across thewoods to the essential country, he heard a faint thud, a patter offeet and the turning of the handle of the gate. He stepped back lestshe should be going to pass him, but she turned the other way, walkingquickly, with a small bag in her hand. 

'She's going away, ' Charles said to himself with perspicacity, and nowfor the first time he knew what her absence would mean to him. She didnot love him, she mocked and despised him, but the Malletts' house hadheld her, and several times a day he had been able to pass and tellhimself she was there. Now, with the sad little bag in her hand, shewas not only in personal danger, she threatened his whole life. 

He followed, not too close. Her haste did not destroy the beauty ofher carriage, her body did not hang over her feet, teaching them theway to go; it was straight, like a young tree. He had never reallylooked at her before, he had never had a mind empty of everythingexcept the consideration of her, and now he was puzzled by somedifference. In his desire to discover what it was, he drewindiscreetly close to her, and though a quick turn of her headreminded him of his duty to see and not to be seen, he had made hisdiscovery. Her clothes were different: they were shabby and, searchingfor an explanation, he found the right one. She was wearing theclothes in which she had arrived at Nelson Lodge. He remembered. Inbooks it was what fugitives always did: they discarded their richclothes and they left a note on the pin-cushion. It was her way ofshaking the dust from her feet and, with a rush of feeling in which heforgot himself, he experienced a new, protective tenderness for her. He realized that she, too, might be unhappy, and it seemed that it washe who ought to comfort her, he who could do it. 

He had to put a drag on his steps as they tried to hurry after her, through the main street of Upper Radstowe, through another darker onewhere there were fewer people and he had to exercise more care, and sopast the big square where tall old houses looked at each other acrossan enclosure of trees, down to a broad street where tramcars rushedand rattled. She boarded one of these and went inside. Pulling his hatfarther over his face in the erroneous belief that he would be theless noticeable, he ascended to the top, to crane his head over theside at every stopping-place lest Henrietta should get off; but therewas no sign of her until they reached that strange place in the middleof the city where the harbour ran into the streets and the funnels andmasts of ships mingled with the roofs of houses. This was the spotwhere, round a big triangle of paving, tramcars came and went in everydirection, and here everybody must alight. 

The streets were brilliant with electricity; electric signs poppedmagically with many-coloured lights on the front of a music hall wherean audience was already gathering for the first performance, onpublic-houses, on the big red warehouses on the quay. The lightedtramcars with passengers inside looked like magic-lantern slides, andamid all the people using the triangle as a promenade or hurrying hereand there on business, the newsboys shouting and the general bustle, Charles did not know whether to be more afraid of losing Henrietta orcolliding with her. But now his faculties were alert and he used morediscretion than was necessary, for Henrietta, under the influence ofthat instinct which persuades that not seeing is a precaution againstbeing seen, was scrupulous in avoiding the encounter of any eye. 

He followed her to another tramcar which would take her to thestation; he followed her when she alighted once more and, seeing herchange that bag from one hand to another, as though she found itheavy, he let out a groan so loud and heartfelt that it aroused thepity of a passer-by, but he was really luxuriating in his sorrow forher. It was an immense relief after much sorrowing for himself and itinduced a forgetfulness of everything but his determination to helpher. 

It was easy to keep her in sight while she went up the broad approachto the dull, crowded, badly lighted and dirty station: it was harderto get near enough to hear what ticket she demanded. He did not hear, but again he followed the little, shabby, yet somehow elegant figure, and he took a place in the compartment next to the one she chose. Itwas the London train, and he found himself hoping she was not going sofar; he felt that to see her disappearing into that house of which hehad the address in his pocket would be like seeing her disappear forever. He would lose his chance of helping her, or rather, she wouldlose her chance of being helped, a slightly different aspect of theaffair and the one on which he had set his mind. 

He had taken a ticket for the first stop, and when the train sloweddown for the station of that neighbouring city, he had his head out ofthe window. An old gentleman with a noisy cold protested. Could he notwait until the train actually stopped? Charles was afraid he could notbe so obliging. He assured the old gentleman that the night was mild. 'And I'm keeping a good deal of the draught out, ' he said pleasantly. 

He saw a small hand on the door of the next compartment, then thesleeve of a black coat as Henrietta stretched for the handle, and hesaid to himself, 'She was in mourning for her mother. ' He was proud ofremembering that; he had a sense of nearness and a slow suspicion thathitherto he had not sufficiently considered her. In their pastintercourse he had been trying to stamp his own thoughts on her mind, but now it seemed that something of her, more real than her physicalbeauty, was being impressed on him. He wanted to know what she wasfeeling, not in regard to him, but in regard, for instance, to thatdead mother, and why she ran away like this, in her old clothes andwith the little bag. 

She was out of the train: she had descended the steps to the roadwayand there she looked about her, hesitating. Cabmen hailed her but, ignoring them and crossing the tramlines, she began to walk slowly upa dull street where cards in the house windows told of lodgings to belet. If she knocked at one of these doors, what was he to do? But shedid not look at the houses: her head was drooping a little, her feetmoved reluctantly, she was no longer eager and her bag was heavyagain, she had changed it from the right to the left hand, and then, unexpectedly, she quickened her pace. The naturally unobservantCharles divined a cause and, looking for it, he saw with a shock ofsurprise and horror the tall figure of a man at the end of the street. She was hastening towards him. 

Charles stood stock-still. A man! He had not thought of that, he hadpositively never thought of it! Nor had he guessed at his capacity forjealousy and anger. Then this was why Rose Mallett had sent him onthis mission: it was a man's work, and in the confusion of hisfeelings he still had time to wish he had spent more of his youth inthe exercise of his muscles. He braced himself for an encounter, butalready Henrietta had swerved aside. This was not the man she was tomeet; her expectation had misled her; but the acute Charles surmisedthat the man she looked for would also be tall and slim. 

Tall and slim; he repeated the words so that he should make nomistake, but subconsciously they had roused memories and instead ofthat little black figure hurrying on in front of him, he saw a youngwoman clothed in yellow, entering from the frosty night, withbrilliant half veiled eyes, and by the side of her was Francis Sales. 

Again he stood still, as much in amazement at his own folly as in anyother feeling. Francis Sales, the fellow who could dance, who murderedmusic and little birds! And he had a wife! Charles was not shocked. IfHenrietta had wished to elope with a great musician, wived though hemight be, Charles could have let her go, subduing his own pangs, notfor her own sake but for that of a man more important than himself, but he would not yield the claims of his devotion to Francis Sales. Heshould not have her. 

He walked on quickly, taking no precautions. He had lost sight ofHenrietta and he could not even hear the sound of her steps, yet hehad no doubt but he would find her, and she was not far to seek. Aturn of the road brought him under the shadow of the cathedral and, inthe paved square surrounded by old houses in which it stood, he sawher. Apparently at that moment she also saw him, for with anincredibly swift movement and a furtiveness which wrung his heart, sheslipped into the porch and disappeared. He followed. The door wasunlocked and she had passed through it, but he lingered there, fancying he could smell the faint sweetness of her presence. Within, the organ was booming softly and in that sound he forgot, for amoment, the necessity for action. The music seemed to be wonderfullycomplicated with the waft of Henrietta's passage, with his love forher, with all he imagined her to be, but the forgetfulness was onlyfor that moment, and he pushed open the door. 

§ 8

The place was dimly lighted. Two candles, like stars, twinkled on thedistant altar; a few people sat in the darkness with an extraordinaryeffect of personal sorrow. This was not where happy people came tooffer thanks; it was a refuge for the afflicted, a temporary harbourfor the weary. They did not seem to pray; they sat relaxed, wrapped inthe antique peace, the warm, musty smell of the building, sitting withthe stillness of their desire to preserve this safety which was theirsonly for a little while. Their dull clothes mixed with the shadows, the old oak, the worn stone, and the voice of the organ was like thevoice of multitudes of sad souls. Very soon the music ceased with akind of sob and the verger, with his skirts flapping round his feet, came to warn those isolated human creatures that they must face theworld again. 

They rose obediently, but Henrietta did not move, as though she aloneof that company had not learnt the lesson of necessity. But the altarlights were now extinguished, the skirted verger was approaching her, and Charles forestalled him. He murmured, 'Henrietta!'

She looked up without surprise. 'What time is it?' she asked. 

'Seven o'clock. '

She rose, picking up her bag. 

'Let me have that, ' he said. 

'No, no, ' she answered absently, and then, 'Is it really seven?'

'Yes, there's the clock striking now. ' The sound of the seven noteswhirred and then clanged above their heads. 'We must go, ' he said. 'They're locking up. ' The air was cold and damp after the warmth ofthe church and Henrietta stood, shivering a little and looking roundher. 

'I'm hungry, ' Charles Batty said. 'Will you come and have dinner withme?'

'No, ' she replied, 'I shall stay here. '

'How long for?'

'I don't know. ' And sharply she turned on him and asked, 'What are youdoing here?'

'I come here sometimes. There are concerts. '

'You'll be late, then, if you are going to dine. '

'I know, but I'm hungry. You can't listen to music if you're hungry. Let's have dinner first. '

The square was deserted, the lights in the little shops, where oldfurniture and lace and jewels were sold, were all put out and thelarge policeman who had been standing at the corner had moved away. 

'I don't want anything to eat, ' she said. She dropped the bag andcovered her face with both her hands. She was going to cry, but he wasnot afraid; he was rather glad and, not without pleasure at his owndaring, he removed a hand, tucked it under his arm, and said, 'Comealong. '

She struggled. 'I can't. I must go to London. If you want to help meyou'll find out about the trains. I can go to Mrs. Banks. I can't goback to Radstowe. '

'Henrietta, ' he said firmly, 'come and have dinner and we'll talkabout it. '

'If you'll promise to help me. '

'There's nothing I want to do so much, ' he said. 'We mustn't forgetthe bag. '

'Somewhere quiet, Charles, ' she murmured. 

'Somewhere good, ' he emended. 

She looked down, 'Such old clothes. '

'It doesn't matter what you wear, ' he told her. 'You always lookdifferent from anybody else. '

'Do I? And I am! I am! I'm much worse, and nobody, ' she almostsobbed, 'is so unhappy! Charles, will you wait here for a minute? Imust just--just walk round the square. '

'You'll come back?'

She nodded, and he kept the bag as hostage. 

The large policeman had strolled back. He saw the tall young manstanding over the bag and thought it would be well to keep an eye onhim, but Charles did not notice the policeman. His whole attention wasfor Henrietta's reappearance. She would come back because she had saidshe would, but if she did not come alone there would be trouble. Hedid not, however, expect to see Francis Sales: he gathered that Saleshad failed her, and he was sorry. He would have beaten him, somehow;he would have conquered for the first time in his life, and now hefelt that his task was going to be too easy. He wished he could havesweated and panted in the doing of it; and when Henrietta returnedalone, walking with an angry swiftness, he felt a genuine regret. 

'Come along, Charles, ' she said briskly. 'Let us have dinner. '

He could see the brightness of her eyes, looking past him; her lipshad a fixed smile and he wished she would cry again. 'She is cryinginside, ' he told himself. He moved forward beside her vaguely. Thetenderness of his love for her was like a powerful, warm wave, sweeping over him and making him helpless for the time. He could donothing against it, he had to be carried with it, but suddenly itreceded, leaving him high and dry and unromantically in contact with alamp-post. His hat had fallen off. 

'What are you doing?' Henrietta asked irritably. 

He rubbed his head. 'Bumped it. I was thinking about you. '

'What were you thinking?' she asked defiantly. 

'Oh, well--' he said. 

She laughed. 'Charles, you're hopeless. '

'No, I'm not. ' He stooped for his hat and picked it up. 'Not, ' herepeated strongly. 'Here's the place. ' They had turned into a busystreet. 'I hope there won't be a band. '

'I hope there will be. I want noises, hideous noises. '

'You're going to get them, ' he sighed as he pushed open the swing-doorand received in his ears the fierce banging, braying and shrieking ofvarious instruments played in a frenzy by a group of musiciansconfined, as if for the public safety, in a small gallery at the endof the room. Large and encumbered by the bag, he stood obstructing thewaiters in the passage between the tables. 

'They're like wild beasts in a cage, ' he said in the loud voice of hisanger. 'Can you stand it?'

'Oh, yes--yes. Let us sit here, in this corner. ' He was ridiculous, she thought, yet to-night, unconscious of any absurdity himself, hehad a dignity; he was not so ugly as she had thought; his somewhatprotruding eyes had less vacancy, and though his tie was crooked, shewas not ashamed of him. Nevertheless, she said as he sat down, 'Charles, I'm going to London to-night. Get a time-table. '

'Soup first, ' he said. 

'I must go to-night. I can't go back to Radstowe. '

'Did you, ' he asked unexpectedly, 'leave a note on your dressing-table?'

'What?' She frowned. 'No, of course not. '

'Oh, well, you can go back. We're going to a concert together. It'squite easy. I told you you were different from everybody else. ' Andthen, remembering Rose's words, he leaned across the table towardsher. 'The most beautiful and the best, ' he said severely. 

'Me?'

'Yes. Here's the soup. '

She drank it, looking at him between the spoonfuls. This was the manwho had talked to her by the Monks' Pool. Here was the same detachmenthe had shown then, and though the act of taking soup was not poetical, though the band blared and the place shone with many lights, she wastaken back to that night among the trees, with the water lying darklyat her feet, keeping its own secrets; with the ducks quacking sleepilyand unseen, and the water rats diving with a silken splash. 

She seemed to be recovering something she had lost because she haddisregarded it, something she wanted, not for use but for the sake ofpossessing and sometimes looking at it. 

Sternly she tried not to think of Francis Sales, who had deserted her. She might have known he would desert her. He had looked at Aunt Roseand she had seen him weaken, yet he had promised. He was that kind ofman: he could not say no to her face, but he left her in this city, all alone. 

Her lips trembled; she steadied them with difficulty. She wasdetermined not to honour him with so much as a memory or a regret, butthere came forbidden recollections of the dance, of the terrace, andof her hands in his. She closed her eyes and a tremor, delicious, horrible, ran through her body. She felt the strength of those brown, muscular hands and she was assailed by the odour of wind and tobaccothat clung to him. He had never said anything worth remembering, butthere had been danger and excitement in his presence. There wasneither in the neighbourhood of Charles, yet she could not forget hiswords. 

She opened her eyes. 'What was it you said just now?'

'You're the best and most beautiful woman in the world. Your fish isgetting cold. '

She ate it without appetite or distaste. 'But, Charles--'

'I know. '

'What?'

'Everything, ' he said. 

'How?'

He tapped himself, 'Here. '

'I expect you've got it all wrong. '

'Yesterday, perhaps, but not to-day. To-day I know everything. '

'How does it feel?'

'Wonderful, ' he replied. They laughed together but, as though withthat laughter the door to emotion had been opened, he saw tears startinto her eyes. 'No, ' he begged, 'there's no need to cry. '

She laughed again. 'I've got to cry some time. '

'When we're going home, then. We're going home in a car. '

'Are we?' she said, pleased as a child. 'But what about London, Charles? I have to go. '

'Not to-night. Here's some chicken. '

'I can't go back. '

'But you haven't left a note. '

'No. '

'Then it's easy. You and I have just been to a concert. You promisedme that long ago. '

She uttered no more protests. She ate and drank obediently, glad to becared for, and when the meal was over she told him gratefully, 'Youhave been good. You never said another word about the band and it hasmade even my head ache. '

'And I forgot about it!' He stared at her in amazement. 'I forgotabout it! I didn't hear it! Good heavens! But come away quickly beforeI begin remembering. '

That they might be able to tell the truth, they went to the concertand, standing at the back of the hall stayed there for a little while. Even for Charles, the music was only a covering for his thoughts. Henrietta, strangely gentle, was beside him, but he dwelt less on thatthan on the greater marvel of the new power he felt within himself. She might laugh at him, she might mock him in the future, but shecould not daunt him, and though she might never love him, he had doneher service. No one could take that from him. He turned his head andlooked down at her, to find her looking up at him, a little puzzledbut entirely friendly. 

'Oh, Henrietta!' he whispered loudly, transgressing his own law ofsilence and evoking an indignant hiss from an enthusiastic neighbour. He blushed with shame, then decided that to-night he could not reallycare, and signing to Henrietta to follow him, he tiptoed from thehall. 

'Did you hear? Did you hear?' he asked her. 'I spoke! I--at a concert!I've never done that in my life before. I'll never do it again! But, then, it was the first time you'd ever looked at me like that, Henrietta! And, oh Lord, we've forgotten the bag. I dare not go backfor it. '

'We'll leave it, then, ' she said indifferently. 'I don't want to seeit again. '

'But I like it. It's an old friend. I've watched it--' He checkedhimself. 'I'll go. Wait here. '

'Why aren't we going home by train?' she asked, when he returned. 

'The angry man didn't see me, ' he said triumphantly. 'Oh, because--well, you wanted somewhere to cry, didn't you?'

In the closed car she sat, for a time very straight, looking out ofthe window at the streets and the people, but when they had drawn awayfrom the old city and left its grey stone houses behind and taken tothe roads where slowly moving carts were creaking and snatches of talkfrom slow-tongued country people were heard and lost in the samemoment, she sank back. The roads were dark. They were lined by tall, bare trees which seemed to challenge this swift passage and thendecide to permit what they could not prevent, and for a mile or so theriver gleamed darkly like an unsheathed sword in the night. 

'We shall soon be there, shan't we?' she asked, in a small voice. 

'Yes, pretty soon. '

'I wish we wouldn't. I wish we could go on like this for ever, to theedge of the world and then drop over and forget. '

He sighed. He could not arrange that for her but he told the man todrive more slowly. Against the dark upholstery of the car, her facewas like a young moon, wan and too weary for its work. He slipped hisarm under her back and drew her to him. Pulling off her hat, she founda place for her head against his shoulder and he shut his eyes. Shebreathed regularly and lightly, as though she were asleep, butpresently she said, 'Charles, I don't mean anything by this, but youare the only friend I have. You won't think I mean anything, willyou?'

He shook his head and it came to rest on hers. He, too, wished theymight go on like this for ever, to the world's edge. 

 * * * * *

The car was stopped at a little distance from the house and Henriettahad to rouse herself from the state between waking and sleeping, thought and imagery, in which she had passed the journey. The jarringof the brake shocked her into a recognition of facts and the gentlehumming of the engine reminded her that life had to go on as before. The persistent sound, regular, not loud, controlled, was likeexistence in Nelson Lodge; one wearied of it, yet one would weary moreof accidents breaking the healthy beating of the engine: to-night hadbeen one of the accidents and she was terribly tired. No wonder! Shehad been trying to run away with a man who did not want her, a man whohad a lonely, miserable invalid for a wife, the old lover of AuntRose. A little blaze of anger flared up at the thought of Rose;nevertheless, she continued her self-accusations. She had been willingto leave her aunts without a word and they had been good to her andone of them was ill, and the very money in her pocket was not her own. She was shocked by her behaviour. She was like her father, who tookwhat belonged to other people and used it badly. 

She sat, flaccid, her hands loose on her lap. She felt incapable ofmovement, but Charles was speaking to her, telling her to get out andrun home quickly. She looked at him. She was holding his friendlyhand. What would she have done without him? She saw herself in thetrain, speeding through the lonely darkness; she saw herself knockingat Mrs. Banks's door, felt herself clasped to the doubtful blacknessof that bosom, and she shuddered. 

'You must go, ' Charles said, but he still held her hand. 

He had brought her back to cleanliness and comfort, he had saved herfrom behaviour of gross ingratitude, he had been marvellously kind andwise. 

'Charles, ' she said, 'it's awful. '

'No, it's all right. We've been to a concert. '

'Yes'--her voice sank--'I've kept that promise. But the whole thing--and Aunt Caroline so ill. She may have died. '

'There hasn't been time, ' he said. 

'Oh, Charles, it only takes a minute. '

'Well, run home quickly. This bag's a nuisance, ' he said, but helooked at it tenderly. How he had dogged that bag! How heavy ithad seemed for her! 'Look here, I'll take it home and get it to youto-morrow somehow. '

'I don't want it. I hate it. '

He thought, 'I'll keep it, then, ' and aloud he said, 'I'll wrap thethings up in a parcel and let you have them. Nothing you don't want meto see, is there?'

'No, nothing. '

'All right. Do get out, dear. No, I shall drive on. '

She lingered on the pavement. She had not said a word of thanks. Shejumped on to the step and put her head through the window. 'Thank you, kind Charles, ' she said. 

'Henrietta, ' he began in a loud voice, filling the dark interior withsound, 'Henrietta--'

'What is it?'

'No, no. Nothing. '

'Tell me. '

'No. Not fair, ' he said. 'Just weakness. Good night. Be quick. '

She ran along the street and gave the front-door bell a gentle push. To her relief it was the housemaid and not Susan who opened to her. Susan would have looked at her severely, but the housemaid had awelcoming smile, an offer of food if Miss Henrietta had not dined. 

Henrietta shook her head. She was going to bed at once. She did notwant anything to eat. How was Miss Caroline?

'Not so well to-night, Miss Henrietta. The doctor's been again andthere's a night-nurse come. '

Henrietta pressed her hands against her heart. Oh, good Charles, wonderful Charles! She did not know how to be grateful enough. Shemoved meekly, humbly through the hall and up the stairs. All wasterribly, portentously still, but in her bedroom there were no signsof the trouble in the house. The fire was lighted, her evening gownhad been laid out on the bed, her silk stockings and slippers were intheir usual places. Nobody had suspected, nobody had been alarmed; shehad stolen back by a miracle into her place. 

Yes, Charles Batty was a miracle, there was no other word for him and, by contrast, the image of Francis Sales appeared mean, contemptible. Why had he failed her? His desertion was a blessing, but it was also aslight and perhaps a tribute to the power of Rose. Yes, that was it. She set her little teeth. He had stared at Aunt Rose as though hecould not look at her enough, not with the starved expression she hadfirst intercepted long ago, but with a look of wonder, almost of awe. She was nearly middle-aged, yet she could force that from him. Well, she was welcome to anything he could give her, his offerings were nocompliment. Henrietta was done with him; she would not think of himagain; she had been foolish, she had been wicked, but she was thericher and the wiser for her experience. 

She had always been taught that sin brought suffering, yet here shewas, warm and comfortable, in possession of a salutary lesson and withthe good Charles for a secure friend. It was odd, unnatural, and thisvariation in her case gave her a pleasant feeling of being a specialperson for whom the operation of natural laws could be diverted. Bythe weakness of Francis Sales and the strength of Aunt Rose whom, nevertheless, she could never forgive, she was saved from muchunhappiness, and if her mother knew everything in that heaven to whichshe had surely gone, she must now be weeping tears of thankfulness. Yet Henrietta's future lay before her rather drearily. She stretchedout her arms and legs; she yawned. What was she to do? Being good, asshe meant to be, and realizing her sin, as indeed she did, was hardlyoccupation enough for all her energies. 

Her immediate business was to answer a knock at the door. It was Rosewho entered. Her natural pallor was overlaid by the whiteness ofdistress. 'Oh, Henrietta, I am glad you have come in. '

'I've been to a concert with Charles Batty, ' Henrietta said quickly. 

Rose showed no interest or surprise. 'Caroline is so much worse. 'Henrietta felt a pang at her forgetfulness. 'She is very ill. I wasafraid you might not be back in time. She has been asking for you. '

'I've been to Wellsborough, to a concert, ' Henrietta insisted. 'Is sheas bad as that, Aunt Rose? But she'll get better, won't she?'

'Come with me and say good night to her. 'Rose took Henrietta's hand. 'How warm you are, ' she said, in wonder that anything could be lesscold than Caroline soon would be. 

Henrietta's fingers tightened round the living hand. 'She's not goingto die, is she?'

'Yes, she's dying, ' Rose said quietly. 

'Oh, but she can't, ' Henrietta protested. 'She doesn't want to. She'llhate it so. ' It was impossible to imagine Aunt Caroline without herparties, without her clothes, she would find it intolerably dull to bedead. 'Perhaps she will get better. '

Rose said nothing. They crossed the landing and entered the dim room. Caroline lay in the middle of the big bed: with her hair lank anduncurled she was hardly recognizable and strangely ugly. Her bodyseemed to have dwindled, but her features were strong and harsh, andHenrietta said to herself, 'This is the real Aunt Caroline, not what Ithought, not what I thought. I've never seen her before. ' She wonderedhow she had ever dared to joke with her: she had been a funny, vainold woman without much sensibility, immune from much that otherssuffered, and now she was a mere human creature, breathing withdifficulty and in pain. 

Henrietta stood by the bed, saying and doing nothing: Rose had slippedaway; the nurse was quietly busy at a table and Aunt Sophia waskneeling before a high-backed chair with her elbows on the cushionedseat, her face in her hands. She was praying; it was as bad as that. Her back, the sash-encircled waist, the thick hair, looked like thoseof a young girl. She was praying. Henrietta looked again at AuntCaroline's grey face and saw that the eyes had opened, the lips weresmiling a little. 'Good child, ' she said, with immense difficulty, asthough she had been seeking those words for a long time and had atlast fitted them to her thought. 

Sophia stirred, dropped her hands and looked round: the nurse cameforward with a little crackle of starched clothes. 'Say good night toher and go. '

Henrietta leaned over the empty space of bed and kissed Caroline onthe temple. 'Good night, dear Aunt Caroline, ' she said softly. 

There was no answer. The eyes were closed again and the harshbreathing went on cruelly, like waves falling back from a pebbledshore, and Henrietta felt the dampness of death on her lips. No, AuntCaroline would not get better. 

She died in the early morning while Henrietta slept. Susan, enteringas usual with Henrietta's tea, did not say a word. She knew her place;it was not for her to give the news to a member of the family;moreover, she blamed Henrietta for Miss Caroline's death. It was theBattys' ball that had killed Miss Caroline, and Susan stuck to herbelief that if it had not been for Miss Henrietta, there would nothave been a ball. 

Sleepily, Henrietta watched Susan draw the blinds, but something inthe woman's slow, languid movements startled her into wakefulness. Herdreams dropped back into their place. She had been sleeping warmly, forgetfully, while death hovered over the house, looking for a way in. She sat up in bed. 'Aunt Caroline?'

Susan began to cry, but in spite of her tears and her distress sheejaculated dutifully, 'Miss Henrietta, your dressing-gown, yourslippers!' but Henrietta had rushed forth and bounded into Rose'sroom. 

'You might have told me! You might have waked me!'

Rose was writing at her desk. She turned. 'Put on your dressing-gown, Henrietta. You will get cold. I came into your room but you were fastasleep, and in that minute it was all over. The big things happen soquickly. '

Yes, that was true. Quickly one fell in and out of love, ran away fromhome, returned and slept and waked to find that people had quicklydied. The big things happened quickly, but the little ones of everyday went on slow feet, as though they were tired of themselves. 

'It was somehow a comfort, ' Rose went on, 'to know that you were fastasleep, but living. You never moved when I kissed you. '

'Kissed me? What did you do that for?' Henrietta asked in a loudvoice. She had been taken unawares by the woman who had wronged her, yet she was touched and pleased. 

'I couldn't help it. I was so glad to have you there, and you lookedso young. I don't know what we should do without you, poor Sophia andI. Oh, do put on my dressing-gown!'

'Yes, dear, yes, put on the dressing-gown. ' It was Sophia who spoke. Her face was very calm; she actually looked younger, as though thegreatness of her sorrow had removed all other signs, like a fall ofsnow hiding the scars of a hillside. 

'Oh, Aunt Sophia!' Henrietta went forward and pressed her cheekagainst the other's. 

'Yes, dear, but you must go and dress. Breakfast is ready. '

Henrietta was a little shocked that Aunt Sophia, who was naturallysentimental, should be less emotional on this occasion than Aunt Rose, but she was also awed by this control. She remembered how, when herown mother died, Mrs. Banks had refused to take solid food for a wholeday, and the recollection braced her for her cold bath, for freshlinen, for emulation of Aunt Sophia, for everything unlike theslovenly weeping of Mrs. Banks, sitting in the neglected kitchen witha grimy pocket-handkerchief on her lap and the teapot at her elbow;but she knew that the Banksian manner was really natural to her, andthe Mallett control, the acceptance, the same eating of breakfast, were a pose, a falseness oddly better than her sincerity. 

At table no one referred to Caroline; they were practical and composedand afterwards, when Sophia and Rose were closeted together, makingarrangements, writing letters to relatives of whom Henrietta had neverheard, interviewing Mr. Batty and a husky personage in black, Henrietta stole upstairs past Caroline's death chamber and into herown room. 

She was glad to find the pretty housemaid there, tidying the hearthand dusting the furniture. She wanted to talk to somebody and thepretty housemaid was sympathetic and discreet. She told Henrietta, inevitably, of deaths in her own family, and Henrietta was interestedto hear how the housemaid's grandmother had died, actually while shewas saying her prayers. 

'And you couldn't have a better end than that, could you, MissHenrietta?'

'I suppose not, ' Henrietta said, 'but it might depend on what you werepraying for. '

'Oh, she would be saying the usual things, Miss Henrietta, just dailybread and forgive our trespasses. There was no harm in my grandmother. It was her husband who broke his neck picking apples. His own apples, 'she said hastily, 'And now poor Mrs. Sales has gone. '

'Mrs. Sales?'

'Yes, Miss Henrietta, I thought you'd know--last night. Her and MissCaroline together. ' She implied that in this journey they would becompany for each other. 

Henrietta found nothing to say, but above the shock of pity she feltfor the woman she had disliked and the awe induced by the name ofdeath, she was conscious of a load lifted from her mind: she had notbeen deserted, her charm had not failed; it was the approach of deaththat had held him back. She put the thought away lest it should leadto others of which she would be ashamed, yet she felt a maliciouspleasure, lasting only for a second, at remembering that downstairssat Aunt Rose calmly full of affairs, Aunt Rose for whom the love ofFrancis Sales had ceased too soon! And, suppressed but fermenting, wasthe idea that in these late events, including the failure of herescape, there was the kind hand of fate. 

At that very moment Charles Batty chose to call. 

'With a parcel, Miss Henrietta, and he would like to see you. '

'I can't see him, ' Henrietta said. 'Tell him--tell him about MissCaroline. ' She had already drifted away from Charles. He had been sonear last night, so almost dear in the troubled fog of her distress, but this morning she had drifted and between them there was a shiningspace of water sparkling hardly. But she spared him an instant ofgratitude and softness. His part in her life was like that, to asailor, of some lightship eagerly looked for in the darkness, ofstrangely diminished consequence in the clear day, still there, safelyanchored, but with half its significance gone. 

'I can't see him, ' she repeated. 

She wanted, suddenly, to see Aunt Rose. Voices no longer came from thedrawing-room. Mr. Batty, genuinely sad in the loss of an old friend, had gone; the undertaker had tiptoed off to his gloomy lair, andHenrietta went downstairs, but when she saw her aunt she dared not askher if she knew about Christabel Sales. Rose had a look ofinvulnerability; perhaps she knew, but it was impossible to ask, andif she knew, it had made no difference. It seemed as though she hadgone beyond the reach of feeling: she and Sophia both wore whitemasks, but Sophia's was only a few hours old and Rose's had beengradually assumed. It was not only Caroline's death which had givenher that strange, calm face: the expression had grown slowly, asthough something had been a long time dying, yet she hardly had a lookof loss. She seemed to be in possession of something, but Henriettacould not understand what it was and she was vaguely afraid. 

It was Aunt Sophia who, in spite of her amazing courage, had an air ofdesolation. And there was no rouge on her cheeks: its absence madeHenrietta want to cry. She did cry at intervals throughout that dayand the ones that followed. It was terrible without Aunt Caroline andpitiful to see Aunt Sophia keeping up her dignity among black-clothed, black-beaded relatives who seemed to appear out of the ground likesnails after rain and who might have been part of the undertaker'spermanent stock-in-trade. Henrietta hated the mournful looks of theseancient cousins, the shaking of their black beads, their sibilantwhisperings, and in their presence she was dry-eyed and rather rude. Aunt Caroline would have laughed at them and their dowdy clothes thatsmelt of camphor, but it seemed as though no one would ever laughagain in Nelson Lodge. 

And over the river, in the unsubdued country, where death was only therepayment of a loan, there was another house with lowered blinds andvoices hushed. She was irritated by the thought of it, of theconsolatory letters Francis would receive, of the emotions he woulddisplay, or conceal, but at the same time she was sorry that in death, as in life, Christabel should be lonely. Her large and lively familywas far away, even the cat had gone, and there were only the nurse andFrancis and the little dog to miss her. In a sense Henrietta missedher too, and that fair region of fields and woods which had been asthough blocked by that helpless body now lay open, vast, full ofpossibilities, inviting exploration; and when Henrietta looked at herAunt Rose, it was with the jealous eye of a rival adventurer. But thatwas absurd: there could be no rivalry between them. Henrietta was sureof that and she tried to avoid these speculations. 

And meanwhile necessary things were done and Christabel Sales andCaroline Mallett were buried on the same day. The beaded relativesdeparted, not to reappear until the next death in the family, and Roseand Henrietta, both perhaps thinking of Francis Sales returning to hisbig empty house, returned with Sophia to a Nelson Lodge oppressive inits desolation. It seemed now that the whole business of life there, the servants, the fires, the delicate meals, had proceeded solely forCaroline's benefit; yet everything continued as before: the machinerywent on running smoothly; the dinner-table still reflected in its richsurface the lights of candles, the sheen of silver, the pallor offlowers. Nothing was neglected, everything was beautiful and exact, and Susan had carefully arranged the chairs so that the vacant spaceshould not be emphasized. 

The three black-robed women slipped into their seats without a word. The soup was very hot, according to Caroline's instructions, but thecook, inspired more by the desire to give pleasant nutriment than bytact, had chosen to make the creamy variety which was Caroline'sfavourite and, as each Mallett took up her spoon, she had a vision ofCaroline tasting the soup with the thoughtfulness of a connoisseur andproclaiming it perfect to the last grain of salt. 

'I can't eat it, ' Sophia said faintly. In this almost comicrealization of her loss she showed the first sign of weakness. Sherose, trembling visibly, and Susan, anxious for the preservation ofthe decencies, opened the door and closed it on her faltering figurebefore the first sob shook her body. The others, without exchanging asingle glance, proceeded with the meal, eating little, each eager forsolitude and each finding it unbearable to picture Sophia up there inthe bedroom alone. 

'But she doesn't want us, ' Rose said. 

'She might want me, ' Henrietta replied provocatively, and for answerRose's smile flickered disconcertingly across the candle-light, andher voice, a little worn, said quietly, 'Then go and see. '

The bedroom had a dreadful neatness; it smelt of disinfectant, furniture polish and soap, and Sophia, from the big armchair, saidmournfully, 'They might have left it as it was. It feels likelodgings. ' And as the very feebleness of her outcry smote her senseand waked echoes of all she left unsaid, her mouth fell shapeless, andshe cried, 'She's gone!' in a tone of astonishment and horror. 

Henrietta, sitting on a little stool before the fire, listened to theweeping which was too violent for Sophia's strength, and the harshsound reminded her of Aunt Caroline's difficult breathing. It seemedas though the noise would go on for ever: she counted each separatesob, and when they had gradually lessened and died away the relief waslike the ceasing of physical pain. 

'Aunt Sophia, ' Henrietta said, 'everybody has to die. '

Sophia heard. Tears glistened on her cheeks, her hair was disordered, she looked like a large flaxen doll that had been left out in the rainfor a long time. 'But each person only once, ' she whispered. 'Onedoesn't get used to it, and Caroline--' She struggled to sit up. 'Caroline would be ashamed of me for this. '

'She might pretend to be, but she'd like it really. '

'I don't know, ' Sophia murmured. 'She had such character. You neverbelieved her, did you, Henrietta, when she made out she had been--hadbeen indiscreet?'

'No, I never believed it. '

'I'm glad of that. It was a fancy of hers. I encouraged her in it, I'mafraid; but it made her happy, it pleased her and it did no harm. Isuppose nobody believed her, but she didn't know. I don't think I'llsit here doing nothing, Henrietta. I suppose I ought to go through herpapers. She never destroyed a letter. I might begin on them. '

'Oh, do you think you'd better? Don't you like just to sit here andtalk to me?'

'No, no, I must not give way. I'm not the only one. There's poorFrancis Sales. If he'd married Rose--I always planned that he shouldmarry Rose--and of course, we ought not to think of such things sosoon, but the thought has come to me that they may marry after all. '

Henrietta tightened the clasp of the hands on her knee and said, 'Whydo you think that?'

'It would be suitable, ' Sophia said. 

'But she's so old. Haven't you noticed how old she has looked lately?'

'Old? Rose old?' Sophia's manner became almost haughty. 'Rose hasnothing to do with age. My only doubt is whether Francis Sales isworthy of her. Dear Caroline used to say she ought to--to marry aking. '

'And she hasn't married anybody, ' Henrietta remarked bitingly. 

'Nobody, ' Sophia said serenely. 'The Malletts don't marry, ' shesighed; 'but I hope you will, Henrietta. '

'No, ' Henrietta said sharply. 'I shan't. I don't want to. Men arehateful. '

'No, dear child, not all of them. Perhaps none of them. When I waseighteen--' She hesitated. 'I must get on with her papers. ' She stoodup and moved towards the bureau. 'They're here. We shared the drawers. We shared everything. ' She stretched out her hands and they fellheavily, taking the weight of her body with them, against the shiningslope of wood. 

Henrietta, who had been gazing moodily at the fire, was astonished tohear the thud, to see her Aunt Sophia leaning drunkenly over the desk. Sophia's lips were blue, her eyes were glazed, and Henrietta thought, 'She's dying, too. Shall I let her die?' but at the same moment sheleapt up and lowered her aunt into a chair. 

'It's my heart, ' Sophia said after a few minutes, and Henriettaunderstood why poor Aunt Sophia always went upstairs so slowly. 'Don'ttell anybody. No one knows. I ought not to have cried like that. There's a little bottle--' She told Henrietta to fetch it from asecret place. 'I never let Caroline know. It would have worried her, and, after all, she was the first to go. I'm glad to think I saved herthat anxiety. You remember how she teased me about getting tired?Well, it didn't matter and she liked to think she was so young. Wherever she is now, I do hope she isn't feeling angry with herself. She thought illness was so vulgar. '

'But not death, ' Henrietta said. 

'No, not death, ' and Henrietta fancied her aunt lingered lovingly onthe word. 'This must be a secret between us. ' She lay back exhausted. 'I only had two secrets from Caroline. This about my heart was one. Henrietta, in that little drawer, at the very back, you'll find aphotograph wrapped in tissue-paper. Find it for me, dear child. Thankyou. ' She held it tenderly between her palms. 'This was the other. It's the picture of my lover, Henrietta. Yes, I wanted you to knowthat some one once loved me very dearly. '

'Oh, Aunt Sophia, we all love you. I love you dearly now. '

'Yes, dear, yes, I know; I'm grateful, but I wanted somebody to knowthat I had had my romance, and have it still--all these years. But Iwas loved, Henrietta, till he died, and I was very young then, youngerthan you are now. Yes, I wanted somebody to know that poor Sophia hada real lover once. He went away to America to make a fortune for me, but he died. I have been wondering, since Caroline went, if she and hehave met. If so, perhaps she knows, perhaps she blames me, but I don'tthink she will laugh--not now. I hope she laughs still, but not atthat. And now, Henrietta, we'll put the photograph into the fire. '

'Ah, no, Aunt Sophia, keep it still!'

'Dear child, I may die at any moment, and I have his dear face byheart. I shouldn't like any other eyes to look at it, not even yours. Stir the fire, Henrietta. Now help me up. No, dear, I would rather doit myself. '

She knelt, her faded face lighted by the flames which consumed hergreatest treasure, her back still girlish, her slim waist girdled witha black ribbon, her thick knot of hair resting on her neck. 

Henrietta went quietly out of the room, but on the landing she wrungher hands together. She felt herself surrounded by death, decay, lostlove, sad memories. She was too young for this house. She had alonging to escape into sunshine, gaiety and pleasure. It was Carolinewho had laughed and planned, it was she who had made the place a home. Rose was too remote, Sophia was living in the past, and Henrietta feltherself alone. Even her father's portrait looked down at her with eyestoo much like her own, and out there, beyond the high-walled garden, the roofs and the river, there was only Francis Sales and he was not afriend. He was, perhaps, a lover; he was a sensation, an accident; buthe was not a companion or a refuge. 

And the thought of Charles rose up, at that moment, like the thoughtof a fireside. She wished he would come now and sit with her, askingfor nothing, but assuring her of service. That was what he was for, she decided. You could not love Charles, but you could trust him forever, and the more trust he was given, the more he grew to it. Sheneeded him: she must not lose him. Deep in her heart she supposed shewas going to marry Francis Sales, yes, in spite of what Aunt Sophiasaid, and it was a prospect towards which she tiptoed, holding herbreath, not daring to look; but she, like Rose, had no illusions. Shewas the daughter of her mother's union with her father, and she wasprepared for trouble, for the need of Charles. Besides, she liked him:he was companionable even when he scolded. One forgot about him, buthe returned; he was there. She went to bed in that comfortableassurance. 

§ 9

There could be no more parties for Henrietta that winter, but Mrs. Batty's house was always open to her, and Mrs. Batty, like her sonCharles, could be relied upon for welcome and for relaxation. In herpresence Henrietta had a pleasant sense of superiority; she wasapplauded and not criticized and she knew she could give comfort aswell as get it. Mrs. Batty liked to talk to her and Henrietta couldsink into one of the superlatively cushioned arm-chairs and listen ornot as she chose. There she was relieved of the slight but persistentstrain she was under in Nelson Lodge, for Sophia and Rose hadstandards of manner, conduct and speech beyond her own, while Mrs. Batty's, though they existed, were on another plane. Henrietta wassure of herself in that luxurious, overcrowded drawing-room, decoratedand scented with the least precious of Mr. Batty's hothouse flowers, and somewhat overheated. 

On her first visit after Caroline's death, Mrs. Batty received thebereaved niece with unction. 'Ah, poor dear, ' she murmured, andwhether her sympathy was for Caroline or Henrietta, perhaps she didnot know herself. 'Poor dear! I can't get your aunt out of my head, Henrietta, love. There she was at the party, looking like a queen--well, you know what I mean--and Mr. Batty said she was the belle ofthe ball. It was just his joke; but Mr. Batty never makes a joke thathasn't something in it. I could see it myself. And then for her to dielike that--it seems as if it was our fault. It was a beautiful ball, wasn't it, dear? I do think it was, but it's spoilt for me. I can onlybe thankful it wasn't her stomach or I should have blamed the supper. As it is, there must have been a draught. It was a cold night. '

'It was a lovely night, ' Henrietta said, thinking of the terrace andthe dark river and the stars. She could remember it all without shame, for he had not failed her and her personality had not failed. He hadnot deserted her, and when they met there would be no need forexplanations. He would look at her, she would look at him--she had torouse herself. 'Yes, it was a splendid ball, Mrs. Batty. '

'And what did you think of my dress, dear?' Mrs. Batty asked, andchecked herself. 'But we ought not to talk about such things with yourdear aunt just dead. You must miss her sadly. Did you--were you withher at the end?'

But this was a region in which Henrietta could not wander with Mrs. Batty. 'Don't let us talk of it, ' she said. 

Mrs. Batty gurgled a rich sympathy and after a due pause she was gladto resume the topic of the dance. This was her first real opportunityfor discussing it; under Mr. Batty's slightly ironical smile and hisreferences to expense, she had controlled herself; among heracquaintances it was necessary to treat the affair as a merebagatelle; but with Henrietta she could expand unlimitedly. What shethought, what she felt, what she said, what other people said to her, and what her guests were reported to have said to other people, wasrepeated and enlarged upon to Henrietta who, leaning back, occasionally nodding her head or uttering a sound of encouragement, lived through that night again. 

Yes, out on the terrace he had been the real Francis Sales and thatman in the hollow looking at Aunt Rose and then turning to Henriettain uncertainty was the one evoked by that witch on horseback, themodern substitute for a broomstick. Christabel Sales was right: AuntRose was a witch with her calm, white face, riding swiftly andfearlessly on her messages of evil. He was never himself in herpresence: how could he be? He was under her spell and he must becleared of it and kept immune. But how? Through these thoughts, whichwere both exciting and alarming, Henrietta heard Mrs. Batty utteringthe name of Charles. 

'He seems to have taken a turn for the better, my dear. '

'Has he been ill?' Henrietta asked. 

'Ill? No. Bad-tempered, what you might call melancholy. Not lately. Well, since the dance he has been different. Not so irritable atbreakfast. I told you once before, love, how I dreaded breakfast, withJohn late half the time, going out with the dogs, and Mr. Batty behindthe paper with his eyebrows up, and Charles looking as if he'd beendug up, like Lazarus, if it isn't wrong to say so, pale and pasty andsorry he was alive--sort of damp, dear. Well, you know what I mean. But as I tell you, he's been more cheerful. That dance must have donehim good, or something has. And Mr. Batty tells me he takes moreinterest in his work. Still, ' Mrs. Batty admitted, 'he does catch meup at times. '

'Yes, I know. About music. I know. He's queer. I hate it when he getsangry and shouts, but he's good really, in his heart. '

'Oh, of course he is, ' Mrs. Batty murmured, and, looking at the plumphands on her silken lap, she added, 'I wish he'd marry. Now, John, he's engaged; but he didn't need to be. You know what I mean. He washappy enough before, but Charles, if he could marry a nice girl--'

'He won't, ' Henrietta said at once, and Mrs. Batty, suddenly alert, asked sharply, 'Why not?'

'Oh, I don't know. Men are so easily deceived. '

'We can't help it. You wouldn't neglect a baby. Well, then, it's thesame thing. They never get out of their short frocks. Even Mr. Batty, 'his wife chuckled, 'he's very clever and all that, but he's like allthe rest. The very minute you marry, you've got a baby on your hands. '

Henrietta sighed. 'It isn't fair, ' she murmured, yet she liked thenotion. Francis Sales was a baby. He would have to be managed, to beamused; he would tire of his toys. She knew that, and she saw herselfconstantly dressing up the old ones and deceiving him into believingthey were new. 

'I suppose they're worth it, ' she half questioned. 

'Men?'

'No, babies, ' Henrietta answered, meaning the same thing, but Mrs. Batty took her up with fervour. She was reminiscent, and tears cameinto her eyes; she was prophetic, she was embarrassing and faintlydisgusting to Henrietta, and when the door opened to let in Charles, she welcomed him with a pleasure which was really the measure of herrelief. 

She had not seen him since she had parted from him in the car. He didnot return her smile and it struck her that he never smiled. It was agood thing: it would have made him look odder than ever, and somehowhe contrived to show his happiness without the display of teeth. Hiseyes, she decided, bulged most when he was miserable, and now theyhardly bulged at all. 

'You're back early to-day, dear, ' Mrs. Batty said. 'I'll have somefresh tea made. ' But Charles, without averting his gaze fromHenrietta, said, 'I don't want any tea, ' and to Henrietta he saidquietly, 'I haven't seen you for weeks. '

To her annoyance, she felt the colour creeping over her cheeks. Nodoubt he would account for that in his own way, and to disconcert himshe added casually, 'It's not long really. '

'It seems long, ' he said. 

No one but Charles Batty would have said that in the presence of hismother; it was ridiculous, and she looked at him with revengefulcriticism. He was plain; he was getting bald; his trousers bagged; hissocks were wrinkled like concertinas; his comparative self-assurancewas quite unjustified. He had looked at her consistently since heentered the room, and Henrietta was angrily aware that Mrs. Batty wastrying to make herself insignificant in her corner of the sofa. Henrietta could hear the careful control of her breathing. She washoping to make the young people forget she was there. Henriettafrowned warningly at Charles. 

'What's the matter?' he asked at once. 

'Nothing. ' She might have known it was useless to make signs. 

'But you frowned. '

'Well, don't you ever get a twinge?' she prevaricated. 

'Toothache, dear?' Mrs. Batty clucked her distress. 'I'll get somelaudanum. You just rub it on the gum--' She rose. 'I have some in mymedicine cupboard. I'll go and get it. ' She went out, and across herbroad back she seemed to carry the legend, 'This is the consummationof tact. '

Charles stood up and planted himself on the hearthrug and Henriettawished Mrs. Batty had not gone. 'I'm sorry you've got toothache, ' hesaid. 

'I haven't. I didn't say I had. My teeth are perfect. ' With a viciousopening of her mouth, she let him see them. 

'Then why did you frown?'

'I had to do something to stop your glaring at me. '

'Was I glaring? I didn't know. I suppose I can't help looking at you. '

Henrietta appreciated this remark. 'I don't mind so much when we arealone. ' From anybody else she would have expected a reminder that shehad once allowed more than that, but she was safe with Charles andhalf annoyed by her safety. Her instinct was to run and dodge, but itwas a poor game to play at hide-and-seek with this roughly executedstatue of a young man. 'Your mother must have noticed, ' she explained. 

'Well, why not? She'll have to know. '

'Know what?' she cried indignantly. 

'That we're engaged. '

She brightened angrily. After all, he was thinking of that night andshe felt a new, exasperated respect for him. 'But I told you--I toldyou I didn't mean anything when I let you--when we were alone in thatcar. '

'I wasn't thinking of that, ' he said, and she felt a drop. He had nobusiness not to think of it. 

'Then what do you mean?' she asked coldly. 

'I've been engaged to you, ' he said, 'for a long time. I told you. ButI've been thinking that it really doesn't work. '

'Of course it doesn't. Anybody would have known that except you, Charles Batty. '

'Yes, but nobody tells me things. I have to find them out. ' He sighed. 'It takes time. But now I know. '

'Very well. You're released from the engagement you made all byyourself. I had nothing to do with it. '

'No, ' he said mildly, 'but I can't be released, so the only way out ofit is for you to be engaged too. ' He fumbled in a pocket. 'I've boughta ring. '

She sneered. 'Who told you about that?'

'I remembered it. John got one. It's always done and I think this oneis pretty. '

She had a great curiosity to see his choice. She guessed it would begaudy, like a child's, but she said, 'It has nothing to do with me. Idon't want to see it. '

'Do look. '

'Charles, you're hopeless. ' 'The man said he would change it if youdidn't like it. ' Into her hand he put the little box, attractivelysmall, no doubt lined with soft white velvet, and she longed to openit. She had always wanted one of those little boxes and she rememberedhow often she had gazed at them, holding glittering rings, in thewindows of jewellers' shops. She looked up at Charles, her eyesbright, her lips a little parted, so young and helpless in that momentthat she drew from him his first cry of passion. 'Henrietta!' Hishands trembled. 

'It's only, ' she faltered, 'because I like looking at pretty things. '

'I know. ' He dropped to the sofa beside her. 'It couldn't be anythingelse. '

She turned to him, her face close to his, and she asked plaintively, 'But why shouldn't it be?' She seemed to blame him; she did blame him. There was something in his presence seductively secure; there waspeace: she almost loved him; she loved her power to make him tremble, and if only he could make her tremble too, she would be his. 'But itisn't anything else, ' she said below her breath. 

'No, it isn't, ' he echoed in the loud voice of his trouble. He got upand moved away. 'So just look at the ring and tell me if you like it. '

He heard the box unwrapped and a voice saying, 'I do like it. '

'Then keep it. '

'But I can't. '

'Yes, you can. It's for you. It's pretty, isn't it? And you likepretty things. '

'I could just look at it now and then, couldn't I? But no, it isn'tfair. '

'I don't mind about that. 

'I mean fair to me. '

He turned at that. 'I don't understand. '

'A kind of hold, ' she explained. 

'How could it be? I wasn't trying to tempt you, but we're engaged andyou must have a ring. '

She shook her small, clenched fists. 'We're not, we're not! Oh, yes, you can be, if you like; but I didn't mean it would hold me in thatway. I meant it would be like a sign--of you. I shouldn't be able toforget you; you would be there in the ring, in the box, in the drawer, like the portrait of Aunt Sophia's--' She stopped herself. 'And Ican't burn you. '

'I don't know what you are talking about. I suppose I ought to. '

'No, you oughtn't. ' She sprang up, delivered from her weakness. 'Thisis nonsense. Of course, I can't keep your ring. Take it back, Charles. It's beautiful. I thought it would be all red and blue like a flag, but it's lovely. It makes my mouth water. It's like white fire. '

'It's like you, ' he said. 'You're just as bright and just as hard, andif only you were as small, I could put you in my pocket and never letyou go. '

She opened her eyes very wide. 'Then why do you let me go?' she askedon an ascending note, and she did not mean to taunt him. It would beso easy for him to keep her, if he knew how. She expected a despairinggroan, she half hoped for a violent embrace, but he answered quietly, 'I don't really let you go. It's you I love, not just your hair andyour face and the way your nose turns up, and your hands and feet, andyour straight neck. I have to let them go, but you don't go. You staywith me all the time: you always will. You're like music, always in myhead, but you're more than that. You go deeper: I suppose into myheart. Sometimes I think I'm carrying you in my arms. I can't see youbut I can feel you're there, and sometimes I laugh because I thinkyou're laughing. '

She listened, charmed into stillness. Here was an echo of hisoutpouring in the darkness of that hour by the Monks' Pool, but thesewords were closer, dearer. She felt for that moment that he did indeedcarry her in his arms and that she was glad to be there. He spoke soquietly, he was so certain of his love that she was exalted andabashed. She did not deserve all this, yet he knew she was hard aswell as bright, he knew her nose turned up. Perhaps there was nothinghe did not know. 

He went on simply, without effort. 'And though I'm ugly and a fool, Ican't be hurt whatever you choose to do. What you do isn't you. ' Hetouched himself. 'The you is here. So it doesn't matter about thering. It doesn't matter about Francis Sales. '

She said on a caught breath and in a whisper, 'What about him?'

He looked at her and made a slight movement with the hands hanging athis sides, a little flicking movement, as though he brushed somethingaway. 'I think perhaps you are going to marry him, ' he said deeply. 

Her head went up. 'Who told you that?' she demanded. 

'Nobody. Nobody tells me anything. '

'Because nobody knows, ' she said scornfully. 'I haven't seen himsince--' She hesitated. This Charles knew everything, and he said forher, rather wearily, very quietly, 'Since his wife died. No. But youwill. '

'Yes, ' she said defiantly, 'I expect I shall. I hope I shall. '

A shudder passed through Charles Batty's big frame and the words, 'Don't marry him, ' reached her ears like a distant muttering of astorm. 'You would not be happy. '

'What has happiness to do with it?' she asked with an astonishingyoung bitterness. 

'Ah, if you feel like that, ' he said, 'if you feel as I do about you, if nothing he does and nothing he says--'

'He says very little, ' Henrietta interrupted gloomily, but Charlesseemed not to hear. 

'If his actions are only like the wind in the trees, fluttering theleaves--yes, I suppose that's love. The tree remains. '

She dropped her face into her hands. 'You're making me miserable, ' shecried. 

He removed her hands and held them firmly. 'But why?'

'I don't know, ' she swayed towards him, but he kept her arms rigid, like a bar between them, 'but I don't want to lose you. '

'You can't, ' he assured her. 

'And though you think you have me in your heart, the me that doesn'tchange, you'd like the other one too, wouldn't you? I mean, you'dreally like to hold me? Not just the thought of me? Tell me you loveme in that way too. '

'Yes, ' he said, 'I love you in that way too, but I tell you it doesn'tmatter. ' He dropped her hands as though he had no more strength. 'Marry your Francis Sales. You still belong to me. '

'But will you belong to me?' she asked softly. She could not lose him, she wanted to have them both, and Charles, perhaps unwisely, perhapsfrom the depth of his wisdom, which was truth, answered quietly, 'Ibelonged to you since the first day I saw you. '

She let out a sigh of inexpressible relief. 

§ 10

To Rose, the time between the death of Caroline and the coming ofspring was like an invalid's convalescence. She felt a languor asthough she had been ill, and a kind of content as though she weretemporarily free from cares. She knew that Henrietta and Charles Battyoften met, but she did not wish to know how Charles had succeeded inpreventing her escape: she did not try to connect Christabel's illnesswith Henrietta's return; she enjoyed unquestioningly her rich feelingof possession in the presence of the girl, who was much on herdignity, very well behaved, but undeniably aloof. She had not yetforgiven her aunt for that episode in the gipsies' hollow, but it didnot matter. Rose could tell herself without any affectation of virtuethat she had hoped for no benefit for herself; looking back she sawthat even what might be called her sin had been committed chiefly forFrancis's sake, only she had not sinned enough. 

But for the present she need not think of him. He had gone away, sheheard, and she could ride over the bridge without the fear of meetinghim and with the feeling that the place was more than ever hers. Itwas gloriously empty of any claim but its own. To gallop across thefields, to ride more slowly on some height with nothing between herand great massy clouds of unbelievable whiteness, to feel herselfrelieved of an immense responsibility, was like finding the new worldshe had longed for. She wished sincerely that Francis would not comeback; she wished that, riding one day, she might find Sales Hallblotted out, leaving no sign, no trace, nothing but earth and freshspikes of green. 

Day by day she watched the advance of spring. The larches put outtheir little tassels, celandines opened their yellow eyes, the smellof the gorse was her youth wafted back to her and she shook her headand said she did not want it. This maturity was better: she hadreached the age when she could almost dissociate things from herselfand she found them better and more beautiful. She needed thisconsolation, for it seemed that her personal relationships were to befew and shadowy; conscious in herself of a capacity for crystallizingthem enduringly, they yet managed to evade her; it was some fault, some failure in herself, but not knowing the cause she could not cureit and she accepted it with the apparent impassivity which was, perhaps, the origin of the difficulty. 

And capable as she was of love, she was incapable of struggling forit. She wanted Henrietta's affection; she wanted to give everyhappiness to that girl, but she could not be different from herself, she could not bait the trap. And it seemed that Henrietta might befinding happiness without her help, or at least without realizing thatit was she who had given Charles his chance. She had rejected her planof taking Henrietta away: it was better to leave her in theneighbourhood of Charles, for he was not a Francis Sales, and ifHenrietta could once see below his queer exterior, she would never seeit again except to laugh at it with an understanding beyond the powerof irritation; and she was made to have a home, to be busy aboutsmall, important things, to play with children and tyrannize over aman in the matter of socks and collars, to be tyrannized over by himin the bigger affairs of life. 

And with Henrietta settled, Rose would at last be free to take thatjourney which, like everything else, had eluded her so far. She wouldbe free but for Sophia who seemed in these days pathetically subduedand frail; but Sophia, Rose decided, could stay with Henrietta for atime, or one of the elderly cousins would be glad to take up atemporary residence in Nelson Lodge. 

She was excited by the prospect of her freedom and sometimes, asthough she were doing something wrong, she secretly carried the bigatlas to her bedroom and pored over the maps. There were places withnames like poetry and she meant to see them all. She moved already ina world of greater space and fresher air; her body was rejuvenated, her mind recovered from its weariness and when, on an April day, shecame across Francis Sales in one of his own fields, it was a sign ofher condition that her first thought was of Henrietta and not ofherself. He had returned and Henrietta was again in danger, though oneof another kind. 

She stopped her horse, thinking firmly, Whatever happens, she shallnot marry him: he is not good enough. She said: 'Good morning, ' inthat cool voice which made him think of churches, and he stood, stroking the horse's nose, looking down and making no reply. 

'I've been away, ' he said at last. 

'I know. When did you come back?'

'Last night. I've been to Canada to see her people. I thought they'dlike to know about her and she would have liked it, too. '

A small smile threatened Rose's mouth. It seemed rather late to betrying to please Christabel. 

'I didn't hope, ' he went on quietly, 'to have this luck so soon. I'vebeen wanting to see you, to tell you something. I wanted to get thingscleared up. '

'What things?'

He looked up. 'About Henrietta. '

'There's no need for that. '

'Not for you, perhaps, but there is for me. You were quite right thatday. I went home and I made up my mind to break my word to her. I'dmade it up before Christabel became so ill. I wanted you to know that. I couldn't have left her that night--perhaps you hadn't realized I'dmeant to--but anyhow I couldn't have left her, and I wouldn't havedone it if I could. You were perfectly right. '

Rose moved a little in her saddle. 'And yet I had no right to be, ' shesaid. 'You and I--'

'Ah, ' he said quickly, 'you and I were different. I don't blame myselffor that, but with Henrietta it was just devilry, sickness, misery. Don't, ' he commanded, 'dare to compare our--our love with that. '

'No, ' she said, 'no, I don't think of it at all. It has dropped backwhere it came from and I don't know where that is. I don't think of itany more, but thank you for telling me about Henrietta. Good-bye. '

She moved on, but his voice followed her. 'I never loved her. '

She stopped but did not turn. 'I know that. '

'Yes, but I wanted to tell you. ' He was at the horse's head again. 'Idon't think much of the way those people are keeping your bridle. There's rust on the curb chain. Look at it. It's disgraceful! And I'dlike to tell you that I tried to make it up to Christabel at the last. Too late--but she was happy. Good-bye. Tell those people they ought tobe ashamed of themselves. '

'I suppose we all ought to be, ' Rose said wearily. 

'Some of us are, ' he replied. 'And, ' he hesitated, 'you won't stopriding here now I've come back?'

'Of course not. It's the habit of a lifetime. '

'I shan't worry you. '

She laughed frankly. 'I'm not afraid of that. '

She was immune, she told herself, she could not be touched, yet sheknew she had been touched already: she was obliged to think of him. For the first time in her knowledge of him he had not grumbled, he waslike a repentant child, and she realized that he had suffered anexperience unknown to her, a sense of sin, and the fact gave him acertain superiority and interest in her eyes. 

She went home but not as she had set forth, for she seemed to hear thejingle of her chains. 

At luncheon Henrietta appeared in a new hat and an amiable mood. Shewas going, she said casually, to a concert with Charles Batty. 

'I didn't know there was one, ' Rose said. 'Where is it?'

'Oh, not in Radstowe. We're going, ' Henrietta said reluctantly, 'toWellsborough. '

But that name seemed to have no association for Aunt Rose. She said, 'Oh, yes, they have very good concerts there, and I hope Charles willlike your hat. '

'I don't suppose he will notice it, ' Henrietta murmured. She feltgrateful for her aunt's forgetfulness, and she said, with anenthusiasm she had not shown for a long time, 'You look lovely to-day, Aunt Rose, as if something nice had happened. '

Rose laughed and said, 'Nonsense, Henrietta, ' in a manner faintlyreminiscent of Caroline. And she added quickly, against the invasionof her own thoughts, 'And as for Charles, he notices much more thanone would think. '

'Oh, I've found that out, ' Henrietta grieved. 'I don't think peopleought to notice--well, that one's nose turns up. '

'It depends how it does it. Yours is very satisfactory. '

They sparkled at each other, pleased at the ease of their intercourseand quite unaware that these personalities also were reminiscent ofthe Caroline and Sophia tradition of compliment. 

Sophia, drooping over the table, said vaguely, 'Yes, verysatisfactory, ' but she hardly knew to what Rose had referred. Shelived in her own memories, but she tried to disguise her distractionand it was always safe to agree with Rose: she had good judgment, unfailing taste. 'Rose, ' she said more brightly, 'I'd forgotten. Susantells me that Francis Sales has come home. '

Rose said 'Yes, ' and after the slightest pause, she added, 'I saw himthis morning. ' She did not look at Henrietta. She felt with somethinglike despair that this had occurred at the very moment when theyseemed to be re-establishing their friendship, and now Henrietta wouldbe reminded of the unhappy past. She did not look across the table, but, to her astonishment, she heard the girl's voice with trouble, enmity and anger concentrated in its control, saying quickly, 'Sothat's the nice thing that's happened!'

'Very nice, ' Sophia murmured. 'Poor Francis! He must have been glad tosee you. '

Rose's eyes glanced over Henrietta's face with a look too proud to becalled disdain: she was doubly shocked, first by the girl's effronteryand then by the truth in her words. She had indeed been feelingindefinitely happy and ignoring the cause. She was, even now, not sureof the cause. She did not know whether it was the change in Francis orthe jingling of the chains still sounding in her ears, but there hadbeen a lightness in her heart which had nothing to do with the senseof that approaching freedom on which she had been counting. 

She turned to Sophia as though Henrietta had not spoken. 'Yes, I thinkhe was glad to see a friend. He has been to Canada to see Christabel'sfamily. No, he didn't say how he was, but I thought he looked ratherold. '

'Ah, poor boy, ' Sophia said. 'I think, Rose dear, it would be kind toask him here. '

'Oh, he knows he can come when he likes, ' Rose said. 

On the other side of the table Henrietta was shaking delicately. Shecould only have got relief by inarticulate noises and insanely violentmovements. She hated Francis Sales, she hated Rose and Sophia andCharles Batty. She would not go to the concert--yes, she would go andmake Charles miserable. She was enraged at the folly of her ownremark, at Rose's self-possession, and at her possible possession ofFrancis Sales. She could not unsay what she had said and, having saidit, she did not know how to go on living with Aunt Rose; but she wasgoing to Wellsborough again and this time she need not come back: yetshe must come back to see Francis Sales. And though there was no onein the world to whom she could express the torment of her mind shecould, at least, make Charles unhappy. 

Rose and Sophia were chatting pleasantly, and Henrietta pushed backher chair. 'Will you excuse me? I have to catch a train. '

Rose inclined her head: Sophia said, 'Yes, dear, go. Where did you sayyou were going?'

'To Wellsborough. '

'Ah, yes. Caroline and I--Be careful to get into a ladies' carriage, Henrietta. '

'I'm going with Charles Batty, ' she said dully. 

'Ah, then, you will be safe. '

Safe! Yes, she was perfectly safe with Charles. He would sit with hishands hanging between his knees and stare. She was sick of him and, ifshe dared, she would whisper during the music; at any rate, she wouldshuffle her feet and make a noise with the programme. And to-morrowshe would emulate her aunt and waylay Francis Sales. There would be noharm in copying Aunt Rose, a pattern of conduct! She had done itbefore, she would do it again and they would see which one of them wasto be victorious at the last. 

She fulfilled her intentions. Charles, who had been flourishing underthe kindness of her friendship, was puzzled by her capriciousness, buthe did not question her. He was learning to accept mysteries calmlyand to work at them in his head. She shuffled her feet and hepretended not to hear: she crackled her programme and he smiled downat her. This was maddening, yet it was a tribute to her power. Shecould do what she liked and Charles would love her; he was a greatpossession; she did not know what she would do without him. 

As they ate their rich cakes in a famous teashop, Charles talkedincessantly about the music, and when at last he paused, she saidindifferently, 'I didn't hear a note. '

Mildly he advised her not to wear such tight shoes. 

'Tight!' She looked down at them. 'I had them made for me!'

'You seemed to be uncomfortable, ' he said. 

'I was thinking, thinking, thinking. '

'What about?'

'Things you wouldn't understand, Charles. You're too good. '

'I dare say, ' he murmured. 

'You've never wanted to murder anyone. '

'Yes, I have. '

'Who?'

'That Sales fellow. '

Her eyelids quivered, but she said boldly, 'Because of me?'

'No, of course not. Making noises at concerts. Shooting birds. I'vetold you so before. '

'He's been to Canada. '

'I know. '

'But he has come back. '

'Well, I suppose he had to come back some day. '

'And I hate Aunt Rose. '

'What a pity, ' Charles said, taking another cake. 

'Why a pity?'

'Beautiful woman. '

'Oh, yes, everybody thinks so, till they know her. '

'I know her and I think she's adorable. '

The word was startling from his lips. Charles, too, she exclaimedinwardly. Was Aunt Rose even to come between her and Charles?

'But of course'--he remembered his lesson--'you're the most beautifuland the best woman in the world. '

'I'm not a woman at all, ' she said angrily: 'I'm a fiend. '

'Yes, to-day; but you won't be to-morrow. You'll feel differentto-morrow. '

He had, she reflected, a gift of prophecy. 'Yes, I shall, ' she saidsoftly, 'I'm stupid. It will be all right to-morrow. I shan't even beangry with Aunt Rose and you've been an angel to me. I shall neverforget you. '

He said nothing. He seemed very much interested in his cake. 

And because she foresaw that her anger towards Aunt Rose wouldsoon be changed to pity, she apologized to her that night. 'I'm afraidI was rude to you at luncheon. '

'Were you? Oh, not rude, Henrietta. Perhaps rather foolish andindiscreet. You should think before you speak. '

This admonition was not what Henrietta expected, and she said, 'That'sjust what I was doing. You mean I ought to be quiet when I'mthinking. '

'Well, yes, that would be even better. '

'Then, Aunt Rose, I should never speak at all when I'm with you. '

'You haven't talked to me for a long time. '

She made a gesture like her father's--impatient, hopeless. 'How canI?' she demanded. There was too much between them: the figure ofFrancis Sales was too solid. 

She set out as she had intended the next afternoon. It was fullspring-time now and Radstowe was gay and sweet with flowering trees. The delicate rose of the almond blossom had already faded to afainting pink and fallen to the ground, and the laburnum was weepinggolden tears which would soon drop to the pavements and blacken there;the red and white hawthorns were all out, and Henrietta's daily walkshad been punctuated by ecstatic halts when she stood under a canopy offlower and leaf and drenched herself in scent and colour, or peepedover garden fences to see tall tulips springing up out of the grass;but to-day she did not linger. 

It seemed a long time since she had crossed the river, yet the onlychange was in the new green of the trees splashing the side of thegorge. The gulls were still quarrelling for food on the muddy banks, children and perambulators, horses and carts, were passing over thebridge as on her first day in Radstowe, but there was now no FrancisSales on his fine horse. The sun was bright but clouds were beingblown by a wind with a sharp breath, and she went quickly lest itshould rain before her business was accomplished. She had no fear ofnot finding Francis Sales: in such things her luck never failed her, and she came upon him even sooner than she had expected in theoutermost of his fields. 

He stood beside the gate, scrutinizing a flock of sheep and lambs andtalking to the shepherd, and he turned at the sound of her footstepson the road. She smiled sweetly: rather stiffly he raised his hand tohis hat and in that moment she recognized that he had no welcome forher. He had changed; he was grave though he was not sullen, and shesaid to herself with her ready bitterness, 'Ah, he has reformed, nowthat there's no need. That's what they all do. '

But her smile did not fade. She leaned over the gate in a friendlymanner and asked him about the lambs. How old were they? She hoped hewould not have them killed: they were too sweet. She had never touchedone in her life. Why did they get so ugly afterwards? It was hard tobelieve those little things with faces like kittens, or like flowers, were the children of their lumpy mothers. 'Do you think I could catchone if I came inside?' she asked. 

'Come inside, ' he said, 'but the shepherd shall catch one for you. '

She stroked the curly wool, she pulled the apprehensive ears, sheuttered absurdities and, glancing up to see if Sales were laughing ather charming folly, she saw that he was examining his flock with thepractical interest of a farmer. He was apparently considering sometechnical point; he had not been listening to her at all. She hatedthat lamb, she hoped he would kill it and all the rest, and shedecided to eat mutton in future with voracity. 

'I was going to pick primroses, ' she said. 'Are there any in thesefields?' 'I don't know. Can you spare me a few minutes? I want tospeak to you. '

Her heart, which had been thumping with a sickening slowness, quickened its beats. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps hisserious manner was that of a great occasion, and she saw herselfreturning to Nelson Lodge and treating her Aunt Rose with gentle tact. 

'Shall we sit on the gate?' she asked. 

'I'd rather walk across the field. I've been wanting to see you--sincethat night. I owe you an apology. '

She dared not speak for fear of making a mistake, and she waited, walking slowly beside him, her eyes downcast. 

'An apology--for the whole thing, ' he said. 

She looked up. 'What whole thing?'

'The way I behaved with you. '

'Oh, that! I don't see why you should apologize, ' she said. 

'It wasn't fair. It wasn't even decent. '

'But it was a sort of habit with you, wasn't it?' she saidcommiseratingly, and had the happiness of seeing his face flush. 'Iquite understand. And we were both amused. '

'I wasn't amused, ' he said, 'not a bit, and I'm sorry I behaved as Idid. You were so young--and so pretty. Well, it's no good makingexcuses, but I couldn't rest until I'd seen you and--humbled myself. '

'Did Aunt Rose tell you to say this?' she asked. 

'Rose? Of course not. Why should she?'

'She seems to have an extraordinary power. '

'Yes, she has, ' he said simply. 

'And have you humbled yourself to her, too?'

'No. With her, ' he said slowly, 'there was no need. '

'I see. ' She laughed up at him frankly. 'You know, I never took itvery seriously. I'm sorry the thought of it has troubled you. '

He went on, ignoring her lightness, and determined to say everything. 'I meant to meet you that night and tell you what I'm telling you now;but Christabel was very ill and I couldn't leave her. I hope'--thiswas difficult--'I hope you didn't get into any sort of mess. '

'That night?' She seemed to be thinking back to it. 'That night--no--Iwent to a concert with Charles Batty. '

'Oh--' He was bewildered. 'Then it was all right?'

'Perfectly, of course. '

'I didn't know, ' he muttered. 'And you forgive me?'

She was generous. 'I was just as bad as you. The Malletts are allflirts. Haven't you heard Aunt Caroline say so? We can't help doingsilly things, but we never take them seriously. Why, you must havenoticed that with Aunt Rose!'

'No, ' he said with dignity, 'your Aunt Rose is like nobody else in theworld. I think I told you that once. She--' He hesitated and wassilent. 

'Well, I must be going back, ' Henrietta said easily. 'I shan't botherabout the primroses. I think it's going to rain. And you won't thinkabout this any more, will you? You know, Aunt Caroline says she nearlyeloped several times, and I know my father did it once, with my ownmother, probably with other people beside. It's in the blood. I musttry to settle down. We did behave rather badly, I suppose, but so muchhas happened since. That was my first ball and I felt I wanted to dosomething daring. '

'You were not to blame, ' he said; 'but I'm nearly old enough to beyour father. I can't forgive myself. I can't forget it. '

'Oh, dear! And I never took it seriously at all. There was a trainback to Radstowe at ten o'clock. I looked it up. I was going to getthat, but as it happened I went to a concert with Charles Batty. Youseem to have no idea how to play a game. You have to pretend toyourself it's a matter of life and death; but you haven't to let itbe. That would spoil it. '

'I see, ' he said. 'I'm afraid I didn't look at it like that. I wish Ihad, and I'm glad you did. It makes it easier--and harder--for me. '

'We ought, ' she said, 'to have laid the rules down first. Yes, weought to have done that. ' She laughed again. 'I shall do that anothertime. Good-bye. '

'Good-bye. You've been awfully good to me, Henrietta. Thank you. '

'Not a bit, ' she cried. 'If I'd known you were bothering about it, Iwould have reassured you. ' She could not withhold a parting shot. 'Iwould have sent you a message by Aunt Rose. '

She waved a hand and ran back to the road. She did not trouble to askherself whether or not he believed her. She was shaken by sobs withouttears. She did not love him, she had never loved him, but she couldnot bear the knowledge that he did not love her. It was quite plain;she was not going to deceive herself any more; his manner had beenunmistakable and it was Aunt Rose he loved. She had been beaten byAunt Rose, and even Charles called her adorable. She did not wantFrancis Sales; he was rather stupid, and as a legitimate lover hewould be dull, duller than Charles, who at least knew how to saythings; but something coloured and exciting and dramatic had beenravished from her--by Aunt Rose. That was the sting, and she washumiliated, though she would not own it. She had been good enough foran episode, but her charm had not endured. 

Her little, rather inhuman teeth ground against each other. But shehad been clever, she had carried it off well; she had not given asign, and she determined to be equally clever with Aunt Rose. Some dayshe would refer lightly to her folly and laugh at the susceptibilityof Francis Sales. It would hurt Aunt Rose to have her faithful loverdisparaged! But, ah! if only she and Aunt Rose were friends, what aconspiracy they could enjoy together! They had both suffered, theymight both laugh. How they might play into each other's hands withFrancis Sales for the bewildered ball! It would be the finest sport inthe world; but they were not friends, and it was impossible to imagineAunt Rose at that game. No, she was alone in the world, and as shefelt the first drop of rain on her face she became aware of the achingof her heart. 

She stood for a moment on the bridge. A grey mist was being driven upthe river, blotting out the gorge and the trees. A gull, shriekingdismally, cleaved the greyness with a white flash. It was cold andHenrietta shivered, and once again she wished she could sit by afireside with some one who was kind and tender; but to-night therewould only be Aunt Sophia and Aunt Rose sitting with her in thatdrawing-room, where everything was too elegant and too clear, wherenow no one ever laughed. 

§ 11

They sat by the fire as she had foreseen, Sophia pretending to be busywith her embroidery, Rose, in a straight-backed chair, reading a book. Henrietta sat on a low stool with a book open on her knee, but she didnot read it. The fire talked to itself, said silly things andchuckled, or murmured sentimentally. That chatter, vaguely insane, andthe turning of Rose's pages, the drawing of Sophia's silks through thestuff and the click of her scissors, were the only sounds until, suddenly, Sophia gave a groan and fell back in her chair. Rose, verymuch startled, glanced at Henrietta and jumped up. 

'It's her heart, ' Henrietta said with the superiority of herknowledge. 'I'll get her medicine. ' She came back with it. 'She waslike this when Aunt Caroline died, but I promised not to tell. If shehas this she will be better. '

It was Henrietta who poured the liquid into the glass and applied itto Sophia's lips. She was, she felt, the practical person, and it wasshe, and not Aunt Rose, who had been trusted by Aunt Sophia. 'Shetold me where she kept the stuff, ' Henrietta continued calmly. 'There, that's better. '

Sophia recovered with apologies: a little faintness; it was nothing. In a few minutes she would go to bed. They helped her there. 

'You ought to have told me, Henrietta, ' Rose said on the landing. 

'I couldn't. She wished it to be our secret. ' It was pleasant to feelthat Aunt Rose was out of this affair. 

'We must have the doctor and she ought not to be alone to-night. '

I'll sleep on the sofa in her room. '

'No, Henrietta, you need more sleep than I do. '

'Oh, but I'm young enough to sleep anywhere--on the floor! But letAunt Sophia choose. '

Henrietta went back to the drawing-room, and the housemaid was sentfor the doctor. Shortly afterwards there came a ring at the bell; nodoubt it was the doctor, and Henrietta wished she could go upstairswith him, for Aunt Rose, she told herself again, was not a practicalperson and Henrietta was experienced in illness. She had nursed hermother and she liked looking after people. She knew how to arrangepillows; she was not afraid of sickness. However, she would have towait until Aunt Sophia sent for her; but it was not the doctor: it wasCharles Batty who appeared in the doorway. 

'Oh, ' Henrietta said, 'what have you come for?'

He put down the hat and stick he had forgotten to leave in the hall. 'I don't know, ' he said. 'I had a kind of feeling you might like tosee me. It's the first time I've had it, ' he added solemnly. 

He really had an extraordinary way of knowing things, but she said, 'Well, Aunt Sophia's ill, so I don't think you can stay. '

He looked round for her. 'She's not here. I shan't do any harm, shallI? We can whisper. '

'She wouldn't hear us anyhow. It's my room above this one. '

'Is it?' He gazed at the ceiling with interest. 'Oh, up there!'

'I should have thought you knew by instinct, ' she said bitingly. 

'No. '

'Come and sit down, Charles, and don't be disagreeable. I shall haveto go to Aunt Sophia soon, but then you will be able to talk to AuntRose. That will do just as well. '

'Not quite, ' he said. 'I really came to tell you--'

'You said you came because you thought I wanted you. '

'So I did, but there were several reasons. You said you were going tobe happy to-day, not murderous, do you remember? And I thought I'dlike to see how you looked. You don't look happy a bit. What's thematter?'

'I've told you Aunt Sophia's ill. And would you be happy if you had tosit in this prim room with two old women?'

'Two? But your Aunt Caroline is dead. '

'But my Aunt Rose is very much alive. '

He wagged his head. 'I see. '

'But she isn't lively. She sits like this--reading a book, and AuntSophia, poor Aunt Sophia, sews like this, and I sit on this horridlittle stool, like this. That's how we spend the evening. '

'How would you like to spend it?'

'Oh, I don't know. ' She dropped her black head to her knees. 'It's solonely. '

'Well, ' he began again, 'I really came to tell you that there's ahouse to let on The Green: that little one with the red roof like acap and windows that squint; a little old house; but--' he paused--'ithas every modern convenience. Henrietta, there's a curl at the back ofyour neck. '

'I know. It's always there. '

'I can't go on about the house unless you sit up. '

'Why?'

'Because of that curl. '

'And I'm not interested in the house. ' She did not move. 'Whose isit?'

'It belongs to a client of ours, but that doesn't matter. The point isthat it's to let. I've got an order to view. Look!--"_Please admitMr. Charles Batty. _" I went this evening and we can both go to-morrow. It's really a very cosy little house. There's a drawing-room openingon the garden at the back, with plenty of room for a grand piano, andthe dining-room--I liked the dining-room very much. There was a firein it. '

'Is that unusual?'

'It looked so cosy, with a red carpet and everything. '

'Is the carpet to let, too?'

'I don't know. I dare say we could buy it. And mind you, Henrietta, the kitchen is on the ground floor. That's unusual, if you like, in anold house. I made sure of that before I went any further. '

'How far are you going?'

'We'll go everywhere to-morrow, even into the coal cellar. To-day Ijust peeped. '

'I can imagine you. But what do you want a house for, Charles?'

'For you, ' he said. 'You say you don't like spending the eveningshere--well, let's spend them in the little house. We can't go on beingengaged indefinitely. '

'Certainly not, ' she said firmly, 'and I should adore a little houseof my own. I believe that's just what I want. '

'Then that's settled. '

'But not with you, Charles. '

He said nothing for a time. She was sitting up, her hands clasped onher lap, and as she looked at him she half regretted her last words. This was how they would sit in the little house, by the fire, surrounded by their own possessions, with everything clean and brightand, as he had said, very cosy. She had never had a home. 

Suddenly she leaned towards him and put her head on his knee. His handfell on her hair. 'This doesn't mean anything, ' she murmured; 'but Iwas just thinking. You're tempting me again. First with the ringbecause it was so pretty, and now with a house. '

'How else am I to get you?' he cried out. 'And you know you werefeeling lonely. That's why I came. '

'You thought it was your chance?'

'Yes, ' he said. 'I don't know the ordinary things, but I know theothers. '

'I wonder how, ' she said, and he answered with the one word, 'Love, 'in a voice so deep and solemn that she laughed. 

'Do you know, ' she said, 'I have never had a home. I've lived in otherpeople's houses, with their ugly furniture, their horrid stickycurtains--'

'I shall take that house to-morrow. '

'But you can't go on collecting things like this. Houses and rings--'

'The ring's in my pocket now. '

'It must stay there, Charles. I ought not to keep my head on yourknee; but it's comfortable and I have no conscience. None. ' She satup, brushing his chin with her hair. 'None!' she said emphatically. 'And here's Aunt Rose coming to fetch me for Aunt Sophia. Mind, I'vepromised nothing. Besides, you haven't asked me to promise anything. '

'Oh!' He blinked. 'Well, there's no time now. Good evening, MissMallett. ' He pulled himself out of his chair. 

'Good evening, Charles. I'm glad you're here to keep Henriettacompany. The doctor has been, Henrietta--'

'Oh, has he? I didn't hear him. '

'Sophia is settled for the night, and I'm going to her now. '

'But she'll want me!' Henrietta cried. 

'No, she asked me to stay with her. Good night. Good night, Charles. '

'But did you say I wanted to be with her?'

Rose, smiling but a little pitiful, said gently, 'I gave her thechoice and she chose me. '

She disappeared, and Henrietta turned to Charles. 'You see, she getseverything. She gets everything I ever wanted and she doesn't try--'Her hands dropped to her side. 'She just gets it. '

'But what have you wanted?'

She turned away. 'Nothing. It doesn't matter. '

'Is she going to marry Francis Sales?'

'What makes you ask that?' she cried. 

'I don't know. I just thought of it. '

'Oh, your thoughts! Why, you suggested the same thing, for me! As if Iwould look at him!'

Charles blinked, his sign of agitation, but Henrietta did not see. 'He's good to look at, ' Charles muttered. 'He knows how to wear hisclothes. '

'That doesn't matter. '

Charles heaved a sigh. 'One never knows what matters. '

'And the Malletts don't marry, ' Henrietta said. 'Aunt Caroline andAunt Sophia and Aunt Rose, and now me. There's something in us thatcan't be satisfied. It was the same with my father, only it took himthe other way. '

'I didn't know he was married more than once. Nobody tells me things. '

'Charles, dear, you're very stupid. He was only married once in achurch. '

'Oh, I see. '

'And if I did marry, I should be like him. ' She turned to him and puther face close to his. 'Unfaithful, ' she pronounced clearly. 

'Oh, well, Henrietta, you would still be you. '

She stepped backwards, shocked. 'Charles, wouldn't you mind?'

'Not so much, ' he said stolidly, 'as doing without you altogether. '

'And the other day you said you need never do that because'--shetapped his waistcoat--'because I'm here!'

He showed a face she had never seen before. 'You seem to think I'm notmade of flesh and blood!' he cried. 'You're wanton, Henrietta, simplywanton!' And he rushed out of the room. 

She heard the front door bang; she saw his hat and stick, lying wherehe had put them; she smiled at them politely and then, sinking to thefloor beside the fender, she let out a little moan of despair anddelight. The fire chuckled and chattered and she leaned forward, herface near the bars. 

'Stop talking for a minute! I want to tell you something. There'snobody else to tell. Listen! I'm in love with him now. ' She nodded herhead. 'Yes, with him. I know it's ridiculous; but it's true. Did youhear? You can laugh if you like. I don't care. I'm in love with him. Oh, dear!'

She circled her neck with her hands as though she must claspsomething, and it would have been too silly to fondle his ugly hat. And he would remember he had forgotten it; he would come back. Shedared not see him. 'I love him, ' she cried out, 'too much to want tosee him!' She paused, astonished. 'I suppose that's how he feels aboutme. How wonderful!' She looked round at the furniture, so still andunmoved by the happy bewilderment in which she found herself. Thepiano was mute; the lamps burned steadily; the chair in which Charleshad sat was unconscious of its privilege; even the fire's flames hadsubsided; and she was intensely, madly, joyously alive. 'It's toomuch, ' she said, 'too much!' And for the first time she was ashamed ofher episode with Francis Sales. 'Playing at love, ' she whispered. 

But Charles would be coming back and, tiptoeing as though he mighthear her from the street, she picked up his hat and stick and laidthem neatly on the step outside the front door. 

She slept with the profundity of her happiness and descended tobreakfast in a dream. Only the sight of Rose's tired face reminded herthat Aunt Sophia was ill. She had had a bad night, but she was better. 

'She's not going to die, too, is she?' Henrietta asked, and she had asad vision of Aunt Rose living all alone in Nelson Lodge. 

'She may live for a long time, but the doctor says she may die at anymoment. '

'I don't suppose she wants to live. '

'What makes you think that?'

'Because of Aunt Caroline--and--other people. But if she dies, whatever will you do?'

The question amused Rose. 'Go and see the world at last, ' she said. 'Perhaps you will come, too. '

Henrietta laughed and flushed and became serious. 'She mustn't die. '

For, after all, Aunt Sophia was not a true Mallett, according to AuntCaroline's test; she believed in marriage, she would like to seeHenrietta in the little house; one of them would be able to call onthe other every day. It was wonderful of Charles to have known shewould like that house: she knew it well, with its red cap and itssquinting eyes; but, then, he was altogether wonderful. 

She supposed he would call for her that afternoon and they wouldpresent the order to view together, but he did not come. With her hatand gloves lying ready on the bed, she waited for his knock in vain. He must have been kept by business; he would come later to explain. And then, when still he did not come, she decided that he must be ill. If so, her place was by his side, and she saw herself moving like anangel about his bed; and yet the thought of Charles in bed was comic. 

At dinner she ate nothing and when Rose remarked on this, Henriettamurmured that she had a headache; she thought she would go for a walk. 

'Then, if you are really going out, will you take a note to Mrs. Batty? She sent some fruit and flowers to Sophia. I suppose Charlestold her she was ill. '

Henrietta looked sharply at her aunt: she was suspicious of whatseemed like tact, but Rose wore an ordinary expression. 

'Is the note ready?' Henrietta asked. 

'Yes, I meant to post it, but I'd rather she had it to-night, andthere is the basket to return. '

'Very well, I'll take them both, and if I'm a little late, you'll knowI have just gone for a walk or something. '

'I shan't worry about you, ' Rose said. 

Henrietta walked up the yellow drive, trembling a little. She haddecided to ask for Mrs. Batty who was always pleased to see her, butwhen the door was opened her ears were assailed by a blast oftriumphant sound. It was Charles, playing the piano; he was not ill, he was not busy, he was merely playing the piano as though there wereno Henrietta in the world, and her trembling changed to the stiffnessof great anger. 

She handed in the basket and the note without a word or a smile forthe friendly parlourmaid. She walked home in the awful realizationthat she had worn Charles out. He had called her wanton; he must havemeant it. It was that word which had really made her love him, yet itwas also the sign of his exhaustion. Life was tragic: no, it wascomic, it was playful. She had had happiness in her hands, and it hadslipped through them. She felt sick with disappointment under herrage; but she was not without hope. It stirred in her gently. Charleswould come back. But would he? And she suddenly felt a terribledistrust of that love of which he had boasted. It was too complete; hecould do without her. He would go on loving, but, she repeated it, shehad worn him out, and she could not love like that. She wantedtangible things. But he had said that he, too, was flesh and blood, and that comforted her. He would come back, but she could do nothingto invite him. 

This, she said firmly, was the real thing. It had been different withFrancis Sales: with him there had been no necessity for pride, but herlove for Charles must be wrapped round with reserve and kept holy; andat once, with her unfailing dramatic sense, she saw herself movingquietly through life, tending the sacred flame. And then, irritably, she told herself she could not spend her days doing that: she did notknow what to do! She hated him; she would go away; yes, she would goaway with Aunt Rose. 

In the meantime she wept with a passion of disappointment, humiliationand pain, but on each successive morning, for some weeks, she woke tohope, for here was a new day with many possibilities in its hours; andeach evening she dropped on to her bed, disheartened. Nothinghappened. Aunt Sophia was better, Rose rode out every day, the littlehouse on The Green stood empty, squinting disconsolately, resignedlysurprised at its own loneliness. It was strange that nobody wanted ahouse like that; it was neglected and so was she: nobody noticed theone or the other. 

Every morning Henrietta took Aunt Sophia for a stately walk; everyafternoon she went to a tea- or tennis-party, for the summerfestivities were beginning once more; and often, as she returned, shewould meet Aunt Rose coming back from her ride, always cool in herlinen coat, however hot the day. Where did she go? How often did shemeet Francis Sales? Why should she be enjoying adventures whileHenrietta, at the only age worth having, was desperately fulfillingthe tedious round of her engagements? It was absurd, and Aunt Rosewould ask serenely, 'Did you have a good game, Henrietta?' as thoughthere was nothing wrong. 

Henrietta did not care for games. It was the big sport of life itselfshe craved for, and she could not get it. All these young men, handsome and healthy in their flannels and ready to be pleasant, shefound dull, while the figure of the loose-jointed Charles, his vaguegestures, his unseeing eyes screening the activity of his brain, became heroic in their difference. She never saw him; she did notvisit Mrs. Batty; she was afraid of falling tearfully on that homely, sympathetic breast, but Mrs. Batty, as usual, issued invitations for agarden-party. 

'We shall have to go, ' Sophia sighed. 'Such an old and so kind afriend! But without Caroline--for the first tune!'

'There is no need for you to go, ' Rose said at once. 'Mrs. Batty willunderstand, and Henrietta and I will represent the family. '

'No, I must not give way. Caroline never gave way. '

There was no excitement in dressing for this party. Without Carolinethings lost their zest, and they set out demurely, walking very slowlyfor Sophia's sake. 

It was a hot day and Mrs. Batty, standing at the garden door to greether guests, was obliged to wipe her face surreptitiously now and then, while the statues in the hall, with their burdens of ferns and lamps, showed their cool limbs beneath their scanty but still decent drapery. 

Mrs. Batty took Sophia to a seat under a tree and Henrietta stood fora moment in the blazing sunlight alone. Where was Aunt Rose? Henriettalooked round and had a glimpse of that slim black form moving amongthe rose-trees with Francis Sales. He had simply carried her off! Itwas disgraceful, and things seemed to repeat themselves for ever. AuntRose, with her look of having lost everything, still succeeded inpossessing, while Henrietta was alone. She had no place in the world. John's affianced bride was busy among the guests, like a daughter ofthe house, a slobbering bulldog at her heels; and Henrietta, isolatedon the lawn, was overcome by her own forlornness. It had been verydifferent at the ball. And how queer life was! It was just asuccession of days, that was all: little things happened and the dayswent on; big things happened and seemed to change the world, butnothing was really changed, and a whole life could be spent with amoment's happiness or despair for its only marks. 

Henrietta, rather impressed by the depths of her own thoughts, movedthrough the garden. Where was Charles? She wanted to see him and gettheir meeting over, but there was not a sign of him and, avoiding thecroquet players and that shady corner where elderly ladies wereclustered near the band, the same band which had played at the ball, Henrietta found herself in the kitchen garden. She examined thegooseberry bushes and strawberry beds with apparent interest, unwilling to join the guests and still more unwilling to be foundalone in this deserted state. It was very hot. The open door of alittle shed showed her a dim and cool interior; she peeped in andstepped back with an exclamation. Something had moved in there. Itmight be a rat or one of John's ferocious terriers, but a voice saidquietly, 'It's only me. '

She stepped forward. 'What are you doing in there?'

'Getting cool, ' Charles said. 'I thought nobody would find me. Won'tyou come in? It's rather dirty in here, but it's cool, and you can'thear the band. I've been sitting on the handle of the wheelbarrow, sothat's clean, anyhow. I'll wipe it with my handkerchief to make sure. '

'But where are you going to sit?'

'Oh, I don't know. '

'There's room on the other handle. '

Henrietta sat with her knees between the shafts, and he sat on theother handle with his back to her. 

'We can't stay here long, ' she said. 

'No, ' Charles agreed. 

The place smelt musty, but of heaven. It was draped with cobwebs likecelestial clouds; it was dark, but gradually the forms of rakes, hoes, spades and a watering-pot cleared themselves from the gloom andCharles's head bloomed above his coat like a great pale flower. 

She put out her hand and drew it back again. She found nothing to say. Outside the sun poured down its rays like fire. Henrietta's headdrooped under her big hat. She was content to stay here for ever ifCharles would stay, too. Her body felt as though it were imponderable, she had no feet, she could not feel the hard handle of thewheelbarrow; she seemed to be floating blissfully, aware of nothingbut that floating, yet a threat of laughter began to tickle her. Itwas absurd to sit like this, like strangers in an omnibus. Thelaughter rose to her throat and escaped: she floated no longer, butshe was no less happy. 

'What's the matter?' asked the voice of Charles. 

'So funny, sitting like this. '

'What else can we do?'

'You could turn round. '

'There's not room for all our knees. '

She stood up with a little rustle and walked to the door. 'No, it'stoo hot out there, ' she said, and returned to face him. 'Charles, ' shesaid in rather a high voice, 'did you find your hat and stick thatnight?'

'What? Oh, yes, ' and then irrelevantly he added, 'I've just been madea partner. '

'Really?' She was always interested in practical things. 'In Mr. Batty's firm? How splendid! I didn't know you were any good atbusiness. '

'I've been improving, and you don't know anything about me. '

'I do, Charles, ' she said earnestly. 

'No, nothing. You haven't time to think of anybody but yourself. Andnow I must go and look after all these people. You'd better come andhave an ice. '

There was ice at her heart and she realized now that her pastunhappiness had been half false; she had been waiting for him all thetime and trusting to his next sight of her to put things right, butshe had failed with him, too. 

In that dim tool-house she had stood before him in her pretty dress, smiling down at him, surely irresistible, and he had resisted. Well, she could resist, too, and she walked calmly by his side, holding herhead very high, and when he parted from her with a grave bow, she felta great, an awed respect for him. 

She went to find her Aunt Sophia, who was still sitting under thetree, surrounded by a chattering group. She looked tired, and, signalling for Henrietta to approach, she said, 'I'm afraid this istoo much for me, dear child. Can you find Rose and ask her to take mehome? But I don't want to spoil your pleasure, Henrietta. There is noneed for you to come. '

Henrietta's lip twisted with dramatic bitterness. There was nopleasure left for her. 'I would rather go back with you, Aunt Sophia. Let us go now. '

'No, no. Find Rose. '

There was another buffet in the face. It was Rose who was wanted andHenrietta, walking swiftly, crossed the lawn again, casting quickglances right and left. Rose was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, fortheir ways had an odd habit of following the same path, she was in thetool-house with Francis Sales, but as she turned to go there, thevoice of Mrs. Batty, husky with exhaustion and heat, said in her ear, 'Is it your Aunt Rose you are looking for, love? I think I saw her gointo the house, and I wish I could go myself. It's so hot that Ireally feel I may have a fit. '

Henrietta went into the cool, shaded drawing-room on light feet, andthere, against the window, she saw her Aunt Rose in an attitudestartlingly unfamiliar. She was standing with her hands clasped beforeher, and she gazed down at them lost in thought--or prayer. Her body, so upright and strong, seemed limp and broken, and her face, which wascalm, yet had the look of having composed itself after pain. 

There was no one else in the room, but Henrietta had the strongimpression that someone had lately passed through the door. She wasafraid to disturb that moment in which an escaped soul seemed to befluttering back into its place, but Rose looked up and saw her andHenrietta, advancing softly as though towards a person who was dead, stopped within a foot of her. Then, without thought and obeying anuncontrollable impulse, she stepped forward and laid her cheek againsther aunt's. Rose's hands dropped apart and, one arm encirclingHenrietta's waist, she held her close, but only for a minute. It wasHenrietta who broke away, saying, 'Aunt Sophia sent me to look foryou. She doesn't feel well. '

§ 12

Mrs. Batty was cured of giving parties. It was after her ball thatMiss Caroline died, and it was after her garden-party that Miss Sophiafinally collapsed. The heat, the emotion of her memories and theeffort of disguising it had been too much for her. She died thefollowing day and Mrs. Batty felt that the largest and most expensivewreath procurable could not approach the expression of her grief. Itwas no good talking to Mr. Batty about it; he would only say he hadbeen against the ball and garden-party from the first, but Mrs. Battyfound Charles unexpectedly soothing. He was certainly much improved oflate, and when she heard that he was to go to Nelson Lodge on businessconnected with the estate, she burdened him with a number ofincoherent messages for Rose. 

Perhaps he delivered them; he certainly stayed in the drawing-room forsome time, and Henrietta, sitting sorrowfully in her bedroom, couldhear his voice 'rolling on monotonously. Then there was a laugh andHenrietta was indignant. Nobody ought to laugh with Aunt Sophia lyingdead, and she did not know how to stay in her room while those two, Aunt Rose and her Charles, talked and laughed together. She thought ofpretending not to know he was there and of entering the drawing-roomin a careless manner, but she could not allow Aunt Rose to witnessCharles's indifference. All she could do was to steal on to thelanding and lean over the banisters to watch him depart. She had thepainful consolation of seeing the top of his head and of hearing himsay, 'The day after to-morrow?'

Rose answered, 'Yes, it's most important. '

Henrietta waited until the front door had closed behind him and then, seeing Rose at the foot of the stairs, she said, 'What's important, Aunt Rose?'

'Oh, are you there, Henrietta? What a pity you didn't come down. Thatwas Charles Batty. '

'I know. What's important?'

'There is a lot of complicated business to get through. '

'You might let me help. '

'I wish you would. When Charles comes again--his father isn't verywell--you had better be present. '

'No, not with Charles, ' Henrietta said firmly. 'Does he understandwills and things?'

'Perfectly, I think. He's very clever and quite interesting. '

'Oh!' Henrietta said. 

'I'm glad he's coming again. And now, Henrietta, ' she sighed, 'we mustget ready for the cousins. '

The female relatives returned in dingy cabs. They had not yet laidaside their black and beads for Caroline, and, as though they thoughtSophia had been unfairly cheated of new mourning, they had adornedthemselves with a fresh black ribbon here and there, or a largerbrooch of jet, and these additions gave to the older garments a rustylook, a sort of blush. 

Across these half-animated heaps of woe and dye, the glances of Roseand Henrietta met in an understanding pleasing to both. This mourninghad a professional, almost a rapacious quality, and if these women hadno hope of material pickings, they were getting all possiblenourishment from emotional ones. Their eyes, very sharp, but veiled byseemly gloom, criticized the slim, upright figures of these youngwomen who could wear black gracefully, sorrow with dignity, and whohad, as they insisted, so much the look of sisters. 

The air seemed freer for their departure, but the house was veryempty, and though Sophia had never made much noise the place was heavywith a final silence. 

'I don't know why we're here!' Henrietta cried passionately across thedinner-table when Susan had left the ladies to their dessert. 

'Why were we ever here?' Rose asked. 'If one could answer thatquestion--'

They faced each other in their old places. The curved ends of theshining table were vacant, the Chippendale armchairs were pushed backagainst the wall, yet the ghosts of Caroline and Sophia, gailydressed, with dangling earrings, the sparkle of jewels, the movementsof their beringed fingers, seemed to be in the room. 

'But we shall never forget them, ' Henrietta said. 'They were persons. Aunt Rose, do you think you and I will go on as they did, until justone of us is left?'

'We could never be like them. '

'No, they were happy. '

'You will be happy again, Henrietta. We shall get used to thissilence. '

'But I don't think either of us is meant to be happy. No, we're notlike them. We're tragic. But all the same, we might get really fond ofone another, mightn't we?'

'I am fond of you. '

'I don't see how you can be'--Henrietta looked down at the fruit onher plate--'considering what has happened, ' she almost whispered. 

Rose made no answer. The steady, pale flames of the candles stood uplike golden fingers, the shadows behind the table seemed to listen. 

'But how fond are you?' Henrietta asked in a loud voice, and Rose, peeling her apple delicately, said vaguely, 'I don't know how youmeasure. '

'By what you would do for a person. '

'Ah, well, I think I have stood that test. '

Henrietta leaned over the table, and a candle flame, as thoughstartled by her gesture, gave a leap, and the shadows behind werestirred. 

'Yes, ' Henrietta said, 'I hated you for a long time, but now I don't. You've been unhappy, too. And you were right about--that man. I didn'tlove him. How could I? How could I? How could anybody? If you hadn'tcome that day--'

Rose closed her eyes for a moment and then said wearily, 'It wouldn'thave made any difference. I never made any difference. You didn't lovehim; but he never loved you either, child. You were quite safe. '

Henrietta's face flushed hotly. This might be true, but it was not forAunt Rose to say it. Once more she leaned across the table and saidclearly, 'Then you're still jealous. '

Rose smiled. It seemed impossible to move her. 'No, Henrietta. I leftjealousy behind years ago. We won't discuss this any further. Itdoesn't bear discussion. It's beyond it. '

'I know it's very unpleasant, ' Henrietta said politely, 'but if we areto go on living together, we ought to clear things up. '

'We are not going on living together, ' Rose said. She left the tableand stood before the fire, one hand on the mantelshelf and one foot onthe fender. The long, soft lines of her dark dress were merged intothe shadows, and the white arm, the white face and neck seemed to bedisembodied. Henrietta, struck dumb by that announcement, and feelingthe situation wrested from the control of her young hands, stared atthe slight figure which had typified beauty for her since she firstsaw it. 

'Then you don't like me, ' she faltered. 

Rose did not move, but she began to speak. 'Henrietta, I have lovedyou very dearly, almost as if you were my daughter, but you didn'tseem to want my love. I couldn't force it on you, but it has beenhere: it is still here. I think you have the power of making peoplelove you, yet you do nothing for it except, perhaps, exist. One oughtnot to ask any more; I don't ask it, but you ought to learn to give. You'll find it's the only thing worth doing. Taking--taking--onebecomes atrophied. No, it isn't that I don't care for you, it isn'tthat. I am going to be married. '

Very carefully, Henrietta put her plate aside, and, supporting herface in her hands, she pressed her elbows into the table; she pressedhard until they hurt. So Aunt Rose was going to be married whileHenrietta was deserved. 'Not to Francis Sales?' she whispered. 

'Yes, to Francis Sales. '

She had a wild moment of anger, succeeded by horror for Aunt Rose. Wasshe stupid? Was she insensible? And Henrietta said, 'But you can't, Aunt Rose, you can't. ' Her distress and a kind of envy gave hercourage. 'He isn't good enough. He played with you and then with meand you said there was some one else. ' The figure by the mantelpiecewas so still that Henrietta became convinced of the potency of her ownwords, and she went on: 'You know everything about him and you can'tmarry him. How can you marry him?'

A sound, like the faint and distant wailing of the wind, came out ofthe shadows into which Rose had retreated: 'Ah, how?'

'And you're going to leave me--for him!'

'Yes--for him. '

'Aunt Rose, you would be happier with me. '

Again there came that faint sound. 'Perhaps. '

'I'd try to be kinder to you. I don't understand you. '

'No, you don't understand me. Do you understand yourself?' Sheleft her place and put her hands on Henrietta's shoulders. 'Say nomore, ' she said with unmistakable authority. 'Say no more, neither tome nor to anybody else. This is beyond you. And now come intothe drawing-room. Don't cry, Henrietta. I'm not going to be marriedfor some time. '

'I wish I'd known you loved me, ' Henrietta sobbed. 

'I tried to show you. '

'If I'd known, everything might have been different. '

Rose laughed. 'But we don't want it to be different. '

'You won't be happy, ' Henrietta wailed. 

'You, at least, ' Rose said sternly, 'have done nothing to make me so. '

Henrietta stilled her sobbing. It was quite true. She had takeneverything--Aunt Rose's money, Aunt Rose's love, her wonderfulforbearance and the love of Charles. 

'I don't know what to do, ' she cried. 

'Come into the drawing-room and we'll talk about it. '

But they did not talk. Rose played the piano in the candlelight for alittle while before she slipped out of the room. Henrietta sat on thelittle stool without even the fire to keep her company. She was toodazed to think. She did not understand why Aunt Rose should choose tomarry Francis Sales and she gave it up, but loneliness stretchedbefore her like a long, hard road. 

If only Charles would come! He always came when he was wanted. Amemory reached her weary mind. This was 'the day after to-morrow, ' andAunt Rose expected him. She leapt up and examined herself in themirror. She was one of those lucky people who can cry and leave notrace; colour had sprung into her cheeks, but it faded quickly. Shehad waited for him before and he had not come, and she was tired ofwaiting. She sank into Aunt Caroline's chair and shut her eyes; shealmost slept. She was on the verge of dreams when the bell jangledharshly. She did not move. She sat in an agony of fear that this wouldnot be Charles; but the door opened and he entered. Susan pronouncedhis name, and he stood on the threshold, thinking the room was empty. 

A very small voice pierced the stillness. 'Charles, I'm here. '

'I won't come a step farther, ' Charles said severely, 'until you tellme if you love me. '

'I thought you'd come to see Aunt Rose. '

'Henrietta--'

'Yes, I love you, I love you, ' she said hurriedly. 'I'm nodding myhead hard. No, stay where you are, stay where you are. I've beenloving you for weeks and you've treated me shamefully. No, no, I'vegot to be different, I've got to give. You didn't treat meshamefully. '

'No, ' he said stolidly, 'I didn't. Here's the ring, and I took thathouse. I've been renting it ever since I knew we were going to live init. Here's the ring. ' He dropped it into her lap. 

She looked down at the stones, hard and bright like herself. 'AuntRose will be very much surprised, ' she said, and she was too happy towonder why he laughed. 

Standing on the stair, Rose heard that laughter and went on veryslowly to her room. She had, at least, done something for Henrietta. She had given Charles his chance, and now she was to go on doingthings for Francis Sales. She owed him something: she owed him theromance of her youth, she owed him the care which was all she had leftto give him. Things had come to her too late, her eyes were too wideopen, yet perhaps it was better so. She had no illusions and shewanted to justify her early faith and Christabel's sufferings and herown. There was nothing else to do. Besides, he needed her, and withhim she would not be more unhappy; he would be happier, he said. Shehad to protect him against himself, yet even there she was frustrated, for he had, in a measure, found himself, and now that she was readyand able to serve him there would be less for her to do. But she hadno choice: there was the old debt, there were the old chains, and asshe faced the future she was stirred by hope. She could tell herselfthat something of her dead love had waked to life, yet when she triedto get back the old rapture, she knew it had gone for ever. 

She entered her room and did not turn on the light. There seemed to bea strange weight in her body, pressing her down, but, as she lookedthrough her open window at the summer sky deepening to night andletting out the stars, which seemed to be much amused, there was alightness in her mind and, smiling back at them, she was able to sharetheir appreciation of the joke.