'No,' she said, 'no, I don't think of it at all. It has dropped back where it came from and I don't know where that is. I don't think of it any 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. 'I don'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'd like 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 to be 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 stop riding 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 she knew 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 was like a repentant child, and she realized that he had suffered an experience unknown to her, a sense of sin, and the fact gave him a certain superiority and interest in her eyes.

She went home but not as she had set forth, for she seemed to hear the jingle of her chains.

At luncheon Henrietta appeared in a new hat and an amiable mood. She was 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, 'to Wellsborough.'

But that name seemed to have no a.s.sociation for Aunt Rose. She said, 'Oh, yes, they have very good concerts there, and I hope Charles will like your hat.'

'I don't suppose he will notice it,' Henrietta murmured. She felt grateful for her aunt's forgetfulness, and she said, with an enthusiasm 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 faintly reminiscent of Caroline. And she added quickly, against the invasion of her own thoughts, 'And as for Charles, he notices much more than one would think.'

'Oh, I've found that out,' Henrietta grieved. 'I don't think people ought 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 intercourse and quite unaware that these personalities also were reminiscent of the Caroline and Sophia tradition of compliment.

Sophia, drooping over the table, said vaguely, 'Yes, very satisfactory,' but she hardly knew to what Rose had referred. She lived in her own memories, but she tried to disguise her distraction and it was always safe to agree with Rose: she had good judgment, unfailing taste. 'Rose,' she said more brightly, 'I'd forgotten. Susan tells me that Francis Sales has come home.'

Rose said 'Yes,' and after the slightest pause, she added, 'I saw him this morning.' She did not look at Henrietta. She felt with something like despair that this had occurred at the very moment when they seemed to be re-establishing their friendship, and now Henrietta would be 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, 'So that's the nice thing that's happened!'

'Very nice,' Sophia murmured. 'Poor Francis! He must have been glad to see you.'

Rose's eyes glanced over Henrietta's face with a look too proud to be called disdain: she was doubly shocked, first by the girl's effrontery and then by the truth in her words. She had indeed been feeling indefinitely happy and ignoring the cause. She was, even now, not sure of the cause. She did not know whether it was the change in Francis or the jingling of the chains still sounding in her ears, but there had been a lightness in her heart which had nothing to do with the sense of that approaching freedom on which she had been counting.

She turned to Sophia as though Henrietta had not spoken. 'Yes, I think he was glad to see a friend. He has been to Canada to see Christabel's family. No, he didn't say how he was, but I thought he looked rather old.'

'Ah, poor boy,' Sophia said. 'I think, Rose dear, it would be kind to ask him here.'

'Oh, he knows he can come when he likes,' Rose said.

On the other side of the table Henrietta was shaking delicately. She could only have got relief by inarticulate noises and insanely violent movements. She hated Francis Sales, she hated Rose and Sophia and Charles Batty. She would not go to the concert--yes, she would go and make Charles miserable. She was enraged at the folly of her own remark, at Rose's self-possession, and at her possible possession of Francis Sales. She could not unsay what she had said and, having said it, she did not know how to go on living with Aunt Rose; but she was going to Wellsborough again and this time she need not come back: yet she must come back to see Francis Sales. And though there was no one in the world to whom she could express the torment of her mind she could, at least, make Charles unhappy.

Rose and Sophia were chatting pleasantly, and Henrietta pushed back her chair. 'Will you excuse me? I have to catch a train.'

Rose inclined her head: Sophia said, 'Yes, dear, go. Where did you say you 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 his hands hanging between his knees and stare. She was sick of him and, if she dared, she would whisper during the music; at any rate, she would shuffle her feet and make a noise with the programme. And to-morrow she would emulate her aunt and waylay Francis Sales. There would be no harm in copying Aunt Rose, a pattern of conduct! She had done it before, she would do it again and they would see which one of them was to be victorious at the last.

She fulfilled her intentions. Charles, who had been flourishing under the kindness of her friendship, was puzzled by her capriciousness, but he did not question her. He was learning to accept mysteries calmly and to work at them in his head. She shuffled her feet and he pretended not to hear: she crackled her programme and he smiled down at her. This was maddening, yet it was a tribute to her power. She could do what she liked and Charles would love her; he was a great possession; she did not know what she would do without him.

As they ate their rich cakes in a famous teashop, Charles talked incessantly about the music, and when at last he paused, she said indifferently, '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?'