He glared at Philip. ''There was no need for me to have gone to London," he said. "You could have done everything without me."

"My dear fellow, your presence was necessary. Don't forget we are partners. We had to have your signature on the documents."

"Where have they gone?" demanded Charles.

Julia said: "Her uncle is ill. They've gone back to Italy."

"I could have driven them to London."

"They went in their own carriage. The driver came down with it. Her brother had sent him."

"Where did they go?"

"To London, of course ... for a night . . . perhaps not that," I told him. "She did say that they might leave for Italy tonight. They were in a great hurry."

Charles turned on his heels and left us.

I said to Philip that night: ''I think he really did care for her.''

Philip was inclined to be sceptical. He said: "He is just annoyed that the chase is over before the capture."

"Are you a little cynical about your brother?" I asked.

"Shall I say I know him well. In a few weeks he will find it difficult to remember what she looked like. He is not a faithful-to-one-woman-type like his brother.''

"I am glad you are that type, Philip," I said fervently. "You were not in the least overwhelmed by the charms of the siren."

''There is only one for me today . . . tomorrow and for ever.''

In my happiness, I could feel sorry for Charles.

Three days after their departure two letters came-one was for Charles, the other for Lady Sallonger.

Lady Sallonger could not find her spectacles so I was called upon to read hers to her. It was a conventional little note saying how Madalenna would never forget the kindness of being taken in and looked after so wonderfully. She could never express her gratitude.

The address was a hotel in London.

Charles's must have been the same. He went up to Town the next day and called at the hotel, but of course by that time she had left.

"That little episode is over," said Philip.

When Philip went to London, I was with him. I think Grand'mere was a little sad to see me go, but her joy in my marriage overshadowed everything else and it was a constant delight for her to see how it was between us.

The London house seemed different now. Before it had been rather alien-very grand, the Sallonger Town House. Well, now I was a Sallonger. The house belonged-at least partly-to my husband; and therefore it was in a way my home too.

The elegant Georgian architecture appeared less forbidding; the all but nude nymphs, who supported the urns on either side of the door, seemed to smile a welcome at me. Greetings, Mrs. Sallonger. I thought I should never get used to being Mrs. Sallonger.

The butler looked almost benign. Did I really detect a certain respect in the crackle of Mrs. Camden's bombazine?

"Good evening, Madam." How different from my last visit when I was plain Miss-not exactly a servant-but not of the quality either-a kind of misfit.

That had changed. The proud gold ring on my finger proclaimed me a Sallonger.

"Good evening, Evans. Good evening, Mrs. Camden," said Philip. "We'll get up to our room first I think. Please have hot water sent up. We must wash away the stains of the journey." He took my arm. "Come along, darling. If you're anything like me you're famished."

I was conscious on every side of my newly acquired status. I would tell Grand'mere about it when I saw her. We would laugh together and I would give an imitation of Mrs. Camden's very gracious but slightly hesitant condescension.

I loved being in London with Philip. He was so enthusiastic about everything. He talked unceasingly and it was usually about the business. I did not have to feign interest. He said he would take me to the works at Spitalfields. "It's wonderful," he said, "to have a wife who cares about the things I care about."

I vowed that I would learn more and more. I would please him in every way. I was so glad that Grand'mere had taught me so much.

My complete pleasure was spoilt by the presence of Charles. He was still sulking about Madalenna and seemed to think that we had deliberately refused to find out where she was going. Apparently his letter had been on the same lines as that she had written to Lady Sallonger--just a conventional thank-you letter; and he had no more idea where she had gone than we had. All he knew was that she had written from that particular hotel. Philip told me that Charles had been there several times but could get no information as to her address in Italy.

I would sometimes find his eyes watching me ... almost speculatively and there was an expression in them which I could not fathom; but I did not think it was one of brotherly love.

I was glad when Julia and the Countess came to the house. Julia had had her little respite and was now once more in search of a husband.

I was becoming friendly with the Countess. She told me how much she admired Grand'mere who had made a niche for herself and kept her dignity; and now her granddaughter had married into the family. The Countess thought that was a very happy conclusion.

She and Julia went out a great deal. There was constant discussion about Julia's clothes. Often the Countess would call me in to ask my advice.

"You have a flair," she said.

She admitted that she had one, too.

I liked her very much; and one morning when Julia was in bed-she invariably slept late after her social engagements-the Countess and I talked together. She was very frank. She said she thought her work was rather futile. She would like to do something worthwhile. She spoke of Grand'mere. "What a dressmaker! None of the court people can compare with her. How I wish I could do something more to my taste."

"Have you any idea what?"

"Something in the dress line. I'd like to have a shop ... all the very best clothes. I'd make it famous throughout Town."

I often remembered that morning's talk.

But at that period my time was mostly taken up by Philip. He gave me a book to read which he said would enhance my interest in silk and tell me something of its romantic beginnings. I found it fascinating to read how nearly three thousand years before the birth of Christ the Queen of Hwang-te was the first to rear silkworms and how she prevailed upon the Emperor to have the cocoons woven into garments. So the art of silk-weaving became known in the time of Fouh-hi who lived a hundred years before the Flood. But this all took place far away and it was not until the sixth century a.d. that two Persian monks brought knowledge of the process to the Western World.

Philip would talk enthusiastically about the beginnings of the industry and how important it was that the worms should be fed on the right kind of mulberry. He greatly regretted that it was not possible to rear them effectively in this country and the importing of so much raw materials was necessary.

He took me to the works and I learned something of the processes through which the materials were put. I saw the large reels called swifts, and watched the people at work. I saw the manipulating of the hanks; and Philip was delighted to see my growing interest.

He took me to the shop. It was scarcely a shop by normal standards. It was more of an establishment, discreetly curtained and presided over by a certain Miss Dalloway who was the essence of elegance and known throughout the building as Madam. There I saw displayed some of the gowns which Grand'mere had made. They seemed like old friends and much grander here than they had appeared in the workroom on Emmeline, Lady Ingleby and the Duchess of Malfi.

I was even more fascinated by the place than I had been by the workrooms and I asked Miss Dalloway a great many questions. Since the introduction of Sallon Silk there had been a great rush of business. The place had a reputation and reputations were all important when it came to clothes. The label inside could be worth a fortune. People liked a dress because it came out of the Sallonger stable. Produce the same dress without the magic label and it would only be worth half the price.

I contested the point with her saying that if the two were the same, they must be of equal value. She smiled at me in her worldly-wise way.

"The majority of people need others to think for them," she explained. "Tell them something is wonderful and they believe it. If you were in the business you would see at once what I mean."

I talked to Philip about it afterwards and he agreed with Miss Dalloway.

"If one intends to be successful in life," he said, "there is one truth to be learned. One must understand people and the way their minds work, the way they think."

Oh yes, they were happy days; but I still felt a little uneasy about Charles. He was always polite, but I would be uncomfortable if I found his eyes on me.

He will always be there, I thought. It is his home as well as ours.

Certainly his presence spoilt my pleasure in London.

Philip was very discerning. He knew of the Aldringham episode and that Drake had fought Charles and thrown him in the lake because of what he had done to me.

He said: "What we must set about doing without delay is finding a house of our own for we shall be living in London a great deal."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!"

"We should start looking right away. Houses are not all that easy to find and the search might take some time. I have one or two in mind which we could look at.''

How I enjoyed those days! We looked at several houses-none quite to our taste.

"We must find exactly what we want," said Philip. "It must be somewhere near here."

There was a tinge of sadness for me as I looked at houses. Our home. But I would think about Grand'mere . . . still living at The Silk House. I knew she would miss me terribly, for all my life we had been together. She had never mentioned this; nor had she shown any sadness at the prospect of our separation; her devotion was entirely selfless. She believed that my marriage to Philip was the best thing that could happen to me and she was content for that reason.

Philip was very susceptible to my moods. He had known that I disliked living under the same roof as Charles and understood why although I had never told him of that encounter before the episode with Drake which had made him so angry with me.

Houses were fascinating. I would wander round the empty rooms, imagining the people who had lived there and wondering what had happened to them and where they were now. We found one house-not very far from the river; it had eight rooms-two on each floor, so it was rather small for its height and a room had been added to the top floor, with a glass roof and very large windows. We were told that the house had belonged to an artist and this had been his studio.

"What a lovely room!" I cried. "It reminds me of Grand'mere's at The Silk House."

"It would be an ideal workroom," said Philip. "It would suit her very well. And you see, there is a room adjoining which could be her bedroom."

I turned and looked at him. "You mean that Grand'mere would come and live with us?"

"Well, that is what you want, isn't it?"

"Oh Philip," I cried, "you have made me so happy."

"That is what I want."

Then I told him of how I had been worrying about her. She would have been miserable in The Silk House without me.

"I know you well," he replied, "so I knew what was on your mind."

"You are so good to me."

"It's practical," he said. "She can work there. It will be much more convenient than The Silk House."

"I'll tell her that. Oh Philip, I want to go back . . . now I can't wait to tell her."

What a happy homecoming that was! I think it made what happened afterwards the harder to bear.

The first thing I did was rush up to Grand'mere. She was in the workroom and had not heard our arrival.

"Grand'mere," I cried, "where are you?" And then I was in her arms.

She studied my face and was aware of my happiness.

"Oh Grand'mere," I said. "We've been house-hunting and we have found the very thing."

Why does one want to withhold good news? Why did I not burst out with it? Perhaps one feels that by hesitation one gives it greater impact; perhaps one wants to prepare the other for complete enjoyment. She had given no hint of sadness although the fact that we had a home in London would, she must think, mean more separations for we should come only infrequently to The Silk House.

I could withhold it no longer. "What decided us was the room at the top. It is rather like this one. The roof is glass. The light is wonderful. It is the north light. It was designed by an artist so that he could work there. The first thing Philip said was: 'This will be just right for Grand'mere.' "

She looked at me in puzzlement.

"Are you pleased?" I asked.

She stammered: "But . . . you and Philip . . . will not want ..."

"But we do want. I could never be completely happy away from you."

"My child . . . mon amour ..."

"It's true, Grand'mere. We have been together all my life. I could not have any change now . . . just because I am married.''

"But you must not make these sacrifices."

"Sacrifices! What do you mean? Philip is the most practical man where business is concerned. He talks business almost all the time. He thinks of little but business. And I am becoming the same. He said it will be easier if you are in London. It was always rather a nuisance sending those bales right down here. You are still in the hands of your slavedrivers . . . and you will have to work . . . and work ... in that room with the north light."

"Oh, Lenore," she murmured and began to weep.

I looked at her in dismay. "This is a nice homecoming! Here you are in tears."

"Tears of joy, my love," she said. "Tears of joy."

We had been home three days. What happened stands out in my memory as I hope nothing ever does again.

Philip and I had ridden out in the morning. The forest was beautiful in May. It was bluebell time and we constantly came across misty blue clumps of them under the trees.

As we rode along we talked excitedly about the house and how we would furnish it and how he hoped to find another material as successful as Sallon Silk.

He said: "It's wonderful to be able to talk to you about all this, Lenore. Most women wouldn't understand a thing."

"Oh, I am Andre Cleremont's granddaughter."

''When I think how lucky I am ..."

"I'm lucky, too."