Black Charles

BLACK CHARLES Esther Wyndham

Once in nearly every generation a dark-haired male was born into the traditionally fair-haired family of Pendleton. Through history, each of them had been known as Black Charles, men who would never marry, whose characters were arrogant and fierce. It was the fate of young Audrey Lawrence, herself used to fighting battles since the premature deaths of her parents, to cross swords with the latest Black Charles of this ancient family. When Audrey's great friend, Vivian, told her that Black Charles was standing in her way of her marriage to his younger brother, Audrey went to Vivian's aid without hesitation.

CHAPTER ONE ANYONE meeting Audrey Lawrence for the first time would have been impressed by her gaiety. No one would have imagined that there was a shadow in her life. She seemed to possess so much that was enviable - independence, youth, charm, a lovely figure, a beautiful speaking voice - but above all a sort of invulnerability which other girls might well covet. You could not imagine Audrey losing her head. Her independence did not come from a private income but from the fact that she held a very good and secure position in a company which dealt in antiques. Her father had been a successful architect, and up till the age of fifteen the vista of her future had been brilliant with the promise of freedom and security, but soon after her fifteenth birthday her father had had a stroke which had left him paralysed down the whole of the right side of his body, and she had realized even sooner than he had that he would never be able to work again. As her mother was dead and she was the only child she had no one to turn to for help, and when her father died two years later she found herself alone in the world with very little money. She had had courage though, and had immediately sold the family house and come to London to earn her own living. She was never in any doubt as to what she wanted to do. She had inherited from her father a great natural taste and a flair for interior decorating, and she also possessed a sound knowledge of antique furniture, so that the natural thing for her seemed to be to go into an antique shop. This she did, and had worked her way up to her present position at the age of only twenty-five. On the day on which our story opens - a day in late autumn - she had an appointment at her hairdresser's, Paul and Gayfere, at one

o'clock. She had always to make an appointment during the lunch hour, because although she was able to keep more or less her own hours, she was always so busy that she found she had as little time to herself as when she had first started working in the shop as a junior assistant. She nearly always met her friend, Vivien Maybridge, at Paul and Gayfere's, because they usually had an appointment on the same day, and that afternoon provided no exception. Audrey noticed at once that there was a special radiance about Vivien that afternoon, and a sense of suppressed excitement. "You're looking particularly beautiful today," she said. "Am I?" Vivien leaned forward and looked at herself quizzically in the mirror. "Do I look different ?" "I don't know about 'different', but you look awfully well." "I feel different - quite different." "You're in love." "How did you guess?" - and her young voice was full of life and eagerness. "It's not very difficult," Audrey said, laughing in answer to her question. "Oh, Audrey, it's true - or isn't it true? I don't know. It only happened last night. Can it be true ?" "I'm told there is such a thing as love at first sight," Audrey replied teasingly. "I'll tell you about it and then you can judge."

"Well, wait till I've had my shampoo. There'll be plenty of time then. I always have to wait ages with my hair all wet until Mr. Paul comes to do my set." Vivien sat there with a dreamy look in her eyes. She had a true heart-shaped face, and deep violet eyes and an enchanting dimple; all this coupled with her glorious, reddy-gold hair, made people say that in beauty she even surpassed her beautiful mother, the celebrated Thelma Gold of musical comedy fame, but those who had known Thelma when she first burst upon London declared that Vivien was plain in comparison to what Thelma had been then - and who could contradict them? Vivien had always wanted to be an actress, ever since she could remember, but it was not her ambition to follow in her mother's footsteps. She wanted to be a serious actress and had worked really hard towards that end and had now been rewarded with her first part in a London production. It was true that the play had only been put on at a small private theatre and there was very little likelihood of it being moved to the West End, that her part in it was a most insignificant one and that it was considered by the critics to be a very bad play, but she could in truth tell herself that she was now acting in London and that her feet were at any rate firmly planted on the first rung of the ladder. That she had not been picked out for special notice by the critics had been a disappointment to her, for it is only human nature for a young actress who has worked so hard to hope to become a star overnight, but mention had been made of an excellent supporting cast, and in this she was able to include herself. Audrey, who had gone to her first night, had been a little disappointed in her. The truth was that Vivien did not come over on the stage, and Audrey thought it was a great pity that her heart was so set on it as a career, but still she was very young yet - only nineteen - and there was plenty of time for improvement.

When Audrey had had her hair washed and was waiting for Mr. Paul to come and set it, Vivien told her in a quick, excited voice what had happened to her the evening before. After the play, she had been picked up at the theatre by some friends and taken on to a house in St. John's Wood for an informal dance. She had been rather dreading it as she didn't know the people who were giving the dance, and anyway, all she wanted to do after a performance was to eat, for she was always too nervous to eat beforehand, and she was afraid on this occasion that she would be done out of her dinner. "It only goes to show," she told Audrey, "that one ought to accept every invitation that comes along because you never know what may happen." "Well, go on," Audrey said laughingly, "you haven't told me yet what did happen." "I met someone." "Not really?" "You're not to laugh at me or I shan't tell you anything." "I'm sorry." "Do you want to hear ?" "Of course I want to hear; I'm longing to hear. Do go on. I can't bear the suspense any longer." "Well, I met someone, that's really all there is to it. It seems rather tame now I come to tell it, doesn't it? But it didn't seem tame at the time... "Who is he?" "Well, his name is Peter Pendleton. I don't know very much about him except that he's twenty-four and lives in Northumberland where

he manages an estate, I can't make out whether it's his own estate or not, but anyway he lives up there - I mean it's his home up there. . . . He's terribly good-looking - fair but with brown eyes.... In fact he's just the most attractive person I've ever met," she ended rather lamely. "Go on," Audrey said, "you haven't told me half yet. How did he get to the party?" "He was brought there by some people. .He didn't know the host and hostess any more than I did. . . . I'm afraid we both behaved rather badly. We left our respective parties and only danced with each other, and he insisted on bringing me home - that was about these this morning." "You don't look as if you'd been up till three," Audrey put in. "Don't I? Well, when I woke this morning I thought it had all been a dream and. I felt so miserable because I'd been dreaming about him all night - such lovely dreams, and then I woke and thought to myself, 'How sad it is, I shall never see him again,' and just as I was thinking that, he rang up and wanted to know whether I was real or not! And he's coming to pick me up this evening and take me to the theatre and see the play and then we're going out together afterwards. Oh, Audrey, isn't it extraordinary how things happen? And here was I, only this time yesterday, wishing with all my heart that I didn't have to go to this party - and apparently he , was wishing just the same, but when he got there he saw me across the room - we weren't introduced or anything - and came straight over to me and asked me to dance. ... I rang up the people who took me to the party this morning and apologized for the way I'd behaved and they were awfully nice about it really, but they said one thing I didn't understand - they said, 'You be careful of him, he's a brother of Blade Charles,' and they didn't seem to say it jokingly. What do you think they could have meant by that?"

"I don't know, but you could find out from him tonight, couldn't you? ... You say his home is in Northumberland? How would you feel about living up there?" "How could I live up there? What about my career?" "Wouldn't you give up the stage for marriage?" "There wouldn't be any need to. He could get a job in London...." "Do you think it works ?" "It's worked with Mummy and Daddy all these years. They're blissfully happy.'' Audrey wondered how happy Henry Maybridge, Vivien's quiet, unassuming father, really was, but all she said was, "I think it's awfully difficult to be really successful in two spheres.... Your mother has such incredible vitality, and you need to have it to run two lives -But I don't know, Vivien, I should have thought you were more cut out for a domestic career." "If I had to choose between the two I shouldn't hesitate," Vivien replied. "I should choose home and husband every time, but I don't see why a choice should be necessary. After all, running her home can't take up a woman's whole life - lots of women have found it practical to keep on their jobs after marriage, so why not the stage?" "Principally because of the hours you would have to keep," Audrey replied. "You would just be going to your work when your husband returns from his, longing for a quiet evening with you at home. You would never see each other. It would be different of course if you married an actor, for then you would be able to keep the same hours. If you marry Peter you'd better get him a job as a night porter!"

There was no further opportunity to talk because just then Mr. Paul came bustling in, apologizing as he always did for keeping her waiting. "Well, I'll be going," Vivien said. "We'll be seeing you this evening, won't we?" "Thank goodness you reminded me," Audrey said. "I'd forgotten all about it. What is it your mother wants me to see?" "Two lamps that she's got on approval. She wane your opinion on them before she decides definitely." "All right," Audrey said. "I'll be along about five."

Thelma Gold lived in a small house in Verne Street off Wargrave Square, and it was just five o'clock that evening when Audrey found herself on the doorstep ringing the bell. Thelma was in the little sitting-room on the ground floor, having tea before going to the theatre. She was appearing at the moment in a show which had been running for almost two years. Vivien was in the room with her but was not sharing her meal because she never could eat anything before a performance. "Come in, my dear," Thelma greeted Audrey. "I suppose you won't have any tea. You never do.... What do you think of those lamps over there? You can say what you like because I haven't committed myself." "What are they asking for them?" "Thirty-five pounds the pair - or is it forty-five? I can't remember."

"If you really want me to be frank, I don't like them." She; thought they were perfectly hideous.' "All right. They shall go back in the morning," Thelma said goodnaturedly. "I'm glad you've come early," Vivien put in. "You'll see Peter. I'm expecting him at any moment. In fact I thought that bell was him when you arrived." "I'm sorry I disappointed you," Audrey replied, laughing. "So you've heard all about him?" Thelma said. "For my part I'm sick to death of him already." Just then they heard the front door bell and Vivien sprang to the window which looked out on to the street, hiding herself behind the curtain so that she could see without being, seen. "I believe it's him," she said. "Anyway, it's a man; I can see his coat sleeve, and there's a car outside." They heard footsteps on the marble floor of the hall, and then a few minutes later the door of the sitting-room opened and Magda, Thelma's housekeeper, announced, "Mr. Pendleton to see you, Miss Vivien," and a moment after Peter was in the room. Vivien's self-possession completely deserted her, and the young man also looked extremely shy, but Thelma, who did not know the meaning of the words shyness or embarrassment, came to the rescue and held out her hand to him. "So you're Peter," she said. "I've very glad to see you. Will you have some tea? There are two pieces of toast left and a cucumber sandwich." "I'd like a cup of tea if I may," he replied. "Have we got time?" - he looked inquiringly at Vivien, who nodded her head.

"You shall have a cup of tea," Thelma said. "As you've probably gathered, I'm Vivien's mother, and this is Audrey Lawrence, who's a very dear friend of ours, and - incidentally - the best decorator in London. . . . Come and sit down, Peter, and tell me all about yourself. Draw up a chair. . . . Vivien, where are your wits ? Get a chair for him." "No, no, I can manage," he protested, and he and Vivien both took hold of the same chair and hindered each other from carrying it to the table. He sat down and Thelma poured him out a cup of tea. Vivien had been right. He was a most attractive-looking young man. There was something fawn-like in his appearance. He might easily have been cast for the part of Pan in a hedonistic masque. His fair hair and brown eyes were a most unusual combination of colouring and there was something very appealing in his handsome young face. Audrey could well believe that he would be irresistibly attractive to some women because they would instinctively feel inclined to mother him. Vivien had recovered herself by this time and all embarrassment had gone, but Audrey could see that she and the young man were longing to be alone with each other. He kept glancing at her - in fact, he obviously found it very difficult to take his eyes off her. "Don't you think we ought to go?" he said once or twice.' "We're not going to be late, are we?" and at last Thelma released them by saying, "Off with you, you children. You've got a long way to go. How are you going to get there?" "I've got a car," he said quickly. "I hired one." "Oh, how wonderful!" Vivien cried, and if he had crane for her on a white horse she could not have put more enthusiasm into her voice.

"Well," said Thelma, after the front door had banged behind them, "my baby is in love at last. I've always wondered what he would be like. It makes me feel a bit sad and old. Bless her! I'll kill him if he makes her unhappy." "I don't think there's much likelihood of that," Audrey said. "He's obviously crazy about her." "What did you think of him?" Thelma asked. "He's certainly very attractive." "Yes, he seems a nice boy. ... I wonder what his family are like? Viv says he lives in Northumberland. I was in Northumberland once we opened with a show in Newcastle. ... Brrrrr, it was dark and cold," and she shivered. "It would never do for Viv to live up there." "But if they do decide to get . married and his home and his work are up there... ?" "He'd have to change his job," Thelma declared. "What about Viv*s career?" "Do you think that a stage career is more important than marriage for her?" "You mean she's no good?" Thelma asked quickly. "Tell me, Audrey, you've seen her and I haven't. . . . You don't know what it's meant to me not to be able to get to see her in her first part. I'm praying that my show will come off before hers does, but it doesn't look as if hers is going to run.,. .Tell me, what is she like? She's not good, is she?" "She's got a very small part. One can hardly judge." "That's nonsense, one can always tell."

"She's very young yet..." "I want the truth from you, Audrey. I look on you as a real friend, and I want the truth. She's no good, is she?" "If you mean, do I think she's going to be a great actress? Well, no, I don't. I don't think she'll ever be a great actress. I don't think she's got the temperament." "No, nor do I, and yet she's worked so hard. Nobody knows but me how hard that child has worked. It'll break her heart." "Do you think it really means as much to her as all that?" "Yes, I do. I think it means everything in the world to her. She's been brought up to it. It's in her blood." "She's got her father's blood in her, too." "Yes, she's more like him in temperament than me. She's got all his refinement. He's a gentleman, Audrey, a real gentleman, and nobody could ever accuse me of being a lady - -thank God. But Viv's a lady. I hope these people of Peter's aren't too stuck up. He didn't seem stuck up himself did he? They might lake a poor view of me if they're county people. You know what those old English families are. They're just hell, and they bore the pants off me, but they seem to think they're God's own chosen people. They wouldn't do for Viv. She's got something of me in her, too, bless her heart." "Aren't we looking a little far ahead?" Audrey suggested. "We seem to think it's almost inevitable that they should get married." "It's inevitable that they should think of getting married," Thelma replied. "You don't have to have very good eyesight to see they're head over heels in love with each other, and nice young people - and those two are nice young people -- think of getting married as soon

as they're in love, and let's hope the world always goes on in that way.... Oh well, I suppose I ought to get going. Can I drop you anywhere?" "Hyde Park Corner, if you will. I'm going home." When Thelma dropped her at Hyde Park Corner, Audrey took a bus to the corner near where she lived in a small flat just off the Old Brompton Road. That evening there was nothing worth watching on television so she had to fall back on her own thoughts for company, and she found those thoughts straying over and over again to Vivien , and her young man, and though she did not in the least grudge them their happiness (on the contrary she wished every possible success to their romance), it did make her conscious of the emptiness of her own life In comparison, and there was a peculiar little ache at her heart which she found most unpleasant, and she knew that unless she was very careful she would begin thinking of her own lost love and she was afraid of the pain that such memories brought to her.... In the last few years she had learnt how to control her mind and had strictly forbidden it to wander into dangerous paths, but this evening, in spite of herself; it was straying to the verge of forbidden territory - it was straying to him - the dear friend she would never see again. ... There was so much soreness in it still, so much pain that she could not bear to think of it..., Her mind shied away from it instinctively.... But sometimes in her sleep it would catch up with her - she would be defenceless against it then - and she would wake sobbing. But no one knew. She was established now In her profession; she had friends in London; she was sought after; she held her head high; she had won through' People said about her, "How gay Audrey is nothing seems to get her down - that's because she doesn't take anything seriously. ... She's got such a divine sense of humour."

They little knew. ... Her gaiety was infectious and she was asked out a great deal because she always seemed to make a party', but the young men were greatly puzzled by her and slightly awed. She was gay and lovely to look at and always beautifully dressed, but she seemed to have no romance in her. She turned everything into a joke. They couldn't get close to hear. She kept them at arm's length with a witticism. She puzzled and yet intrigued them. They could not know that' her attitude was a defence against the blow which life had dealt to her - a blow which had given her to believe that romance was over for her for ever.

She did not see Vivien again for a week, but when she did see her she noticed at once that she was not looking so radiant as she had looked the week before. In fact she looked definitely worried, if not actually unhappy, but Audrey was not kept long in suspense as to how her romance was progressing. The first thing that became apparent was that in a week Vivien had fallen very deeply in love indeed - so much in love in fact that she could think of nothing else, and of nobody but Peter - but things were not going altogether smoothly. She was puzzled and a little hurt. She knew that Peter was in love with her, but he had not definitely asked her to marry him yet, although he had talked of marriage, but in rather vague terms. "If I get married," he had apparently said more than once. "I don't quite understand what's holding him back," she said to Audrey, a line of worry appearing oil her smooth forehead. "And next week he's got to go back home - back to Northumberland. ... We've seen each other every single day and been out together every evening and he's sat through six of my performances, but he hasn't asked me to marry him yet. ... He wants me to meet his brother. ... I believe it's all something to do with this brother, but I can't quite see what, and I don't understand what difference a brother can make."

"Is the brother the Black Charles your friends warned you against, by any chance?" Audrey asked. "Did I tell you that? I'd forgotten I'd told you that. Yes, his brother is called Charles. He's his half-brother, as a matter of fact, and years and years older than he is. They had the same father but different mothers. It's he who owns this big place up in Northumberland which Peter is helping to manage - Goburn Castle. It's right on the coast, I believe - awfully bleak and rugged. There's a big farm as well which Charles looks after himself. I believe they have one of the finest herds of Ayrshires in the country. Peter is Charles's heir. Their father and Peter's mother were killed in an accident when Peter was only a little boy, and this half- brother, Charles, has been more like a father than a brother to Peter ever since, but as far as I can make out, not a father in the nicest sense - not a loving father, but a cruel, domineering father, and Peter is perfectly terrified of him. He hasn't told me so, but I'm sure he is. He only says how wonderful he's been to him, how hard he works, and what an enormous respect he has for him, but I'm quite certain he's really afraid of him." "Is the brother married?" "No, and Peter says he never will marry. He hates women." "Is that all the family Peter has?" "Yes, except for some cousins who also live up there somewhere quite close, I believe, and are also called Pendleton." "Well, I suppose it's quite natural that he should want you to meet his brother," Audrey said reasonably. "And if his brother doesn't approve of me he'll give me up, I suppose?"

"But his brother will approve of you. He couldn't help doing so when he sees you." "Do you think so?" she asked with a certain eagerness, and then added in a different tone, "Why should his brother come into it? I hate the idea of being vetted. Surely a man of twenty-four can marry without his brother's consent?" "He probably will if his brother doesn't consent, but it's only natural that he should want to introduce you to his brother and get his approval first. It's a form of courtesy." "Yes, it all seems very natural when you put it like that, but it's a feeling I've got - a horrible feeling - almost a premonition that something beastly is going to happen....,. You see," Vivien added in a very solemn voice, "I've got a dreadful suspicion that Peter wouldn't go against this brother of his for anything in the world. I feel sure his influence counts with him far more than anyone else's much more than mine." "He's only known you a week and he has known his brother all his life," Audrey pointed out. "What has time got to do with love?" It was a cri de coeur which has rung through the centuries. "Besides," Vivien went on, "there's something else. He doesn't seem to take my acting seriously. There's nothing I wouldn't sacrifice for him. I'd give up acting for him without a thought, except that I'm afraid it would make Mummy so unhappy, if be asked me to - but it would be a sacrifice, but he seems to think that I act as a sort of hobby - that I act for fun and that it would be as easy for me to give it up as cookery lessons or bookbinding or one of the other things which girls who don't have to earn their own living take up in order to fill in their time."

"Perhaps it's just as well," Audrey said wisely. "You wouldn't really like him to think you were making some terrible sacrifice for him, would you? If he knew that, he would feel guilty all the time at having asked you to give up the stage. I think it's much better that he shouldn't realize you would be making a sacrifice." "Yes, I see what you mean. You're right - perfectly right. Of course it's better. It would be awful for him to fed guilty." "And I don't think you need worry about your mother minding it if you give up the stage. I feel quite sure that all she cares about is your happiness.... You've got a wonderful mother, Vivien." "Don't I know it," Vivien replied warmly. "She's an angel to me, and to everyone else. Nobody's ever had such a mother." "I suppose you've told her about the brother and all that?" "Oh, yes, and she takes the line you take, that it's only natural that Peter should want to show me to him; so it's all fixed. He's coming down to London and Mummy is giving a party for him. ... Peter wanted him to meet me without Mummy for the first time, but she feels, and I agree with her, that he ought to meet me first in my own home. As Mummy puts it, jokingly, he ought to realize at once that I've got a background and a home and darling parents...." Audrey had a shrewd idea that it was this very background which Peter would have liked to prevent his brother from seeing until after he had met Vivien, and from this she conceived a very definite idea of what the brother - this Black Charles - must be like, and already she had taken a thorough dislike to him. She could almost see him, dark and sinister, with a perpetual sneer on his face. She didn't like the sound of him at all, and began to understand why it was that Vivien was feeling so depressed about everything, and from the bottom of her heart she pitied her for having to be shown off to him.

"When is this party to be?" she asked. "Next Sunday," Vivien replied, "and you've got to come, Audrey. You've simply got to come. There's no possible excuse for you not to come as it's on a Sunday. It has to be on a Sunday because that's the only day Mummy and I aren't working. You will come, won't you?" "Of course I'd come if you really want me." "I do want you. You'll be such a help." "Help? In what way?" "By talking to him. You're so good at talking to people, and Peter says Charles is simply impossible to talk to." "I like that! You didn't tell me I should have to talk to him." "But you've promised to come now and you can't break your promise." "But I haven't promised to talk to him." "But you will, won't you? You'll try anyway. You're not frightened of anyone, are you?" "I certainly shan't be frightened of your Black Charles, but I've got very little time for rude people. If he won't talk to me, I shan't talk to him, I promise you that. I won't stand for anyone being rude to me.... By the way, why is he called Black Charles?" "Oh, that's a tradition in the family. The Pendletons are all fair. Peter is a typical Pendleton, it seems - that very fair hair with brown eyes - but once, every generation or so, a Black Charles suddenly appears, and all through their family history, for hundreds of years,

this Black Charles has always had the same sort of character. He's never had any children or got married, and he's always been arrogant and fierce. One of them, in the sixteenth century, was supposed to have committed murder - he murdered a woman who tried to marry him, so the story goes, and in some versions of the story she did actually succeed in marrying him, and her ghost haunts the castle to this day." Audrey could not help feeling a little curious at the idea of meeting this Black Charles, and she looked forward to the party on Sunday with mixed feelings. Perhaps the feeling uppermost in her was the desire to show this proud, rude, arrogant man who hated women that she was not afraid of him, and could give as good as she got. If he stood between Vivien and her happiness she would fight him with every weapon at her command. If Peter really loved Vivien he should have her in spite of his hateful brother. Black Charles was not going to come between Vivien and Peter if there was anything in the world she could do to help it

CHAPTER TWO THE moment she arrived at Verne Street on that Sunday evening for the party, she realized that Thelma had made a bad mistake. It was not the right kind of party, not the right occasion at all, for introducing Vivien to what might be her future brother-in-law. The guests were all over-dressed and over-noisy, and there were too many of them - and the food and drink was in keeping with the rest of the party - it was ostentatious and more suitable for a wedding than for what should have been a small, intimate party of friends. If only Thelma had not asked so many people and had been quietly dressed, and had not provided so much drink - and yet Audrey could sympathize with her in a way. No doubt she wanted to show these Pendletons that she was as fully endowed with worldly goods as they were. She had just made a terrible mistake, that was all, and Audrey knew, the moment she saw Black Charles's face, that there was no hope left now of the course of Vivien's romance running smoothly, and metaphorically she buckled on her armour there and then to go to war in the service of her friend - for war it was going to be, of that she was convinced. When she came in, Charles Pendleton was talking to a middle-aged woman with dyed hair and a pale blue dress - or rather he was suffering himself to be talked to. Audrey picked him out at once. There was no mistaking him. He stood out like a full grown oak in a grove of saplings. There was boredom and contempt written in every line of his strong dark face, and a sort of fury against him took possession of her. He had no right to look like that, he had no right to think himself so superior. Thelma and her friends were worth a million of him. What had he ever done for anybody, whereas Thelma had brought brightness and gaiety to thousands and thousands of homes. He was just the kind of man who had brought down the prestige of the aristocracy in England - proud, arrogant, conceited. She hated him with her whole heart. She stood in the

doorway for a few moments taking in the situation, but she was not allowed to stand there long, for suddenly Vivien saw her and came up to her eagerly, and whispered, "Thank God you've come. It's all perfectly awful. I don't know why, but it's so much worse even than I expected. Please come and talk to him. I'll get Peter to introduce you. I'm too frightened to go near him." She took her by the hand and led her over to Peter, whose face lit up in a very genuine smile of welcome at the sight of her. She thought she could almost detect relief in it. "Peter, introduce Audrey to your brother, do." Vivien spoke in a breathless, agitated voice, quite unlike her own. "Do rescue him from Mrs. Slott." Peter complied with alacrity. He seemed only too anxious himself to rescue his brother. Audrey followed him across the room to where his brother was standing by the window. Her spirit was up and there was the light of battle in her eye, but nevertheless her heart was beating fast when Peter said, "Charles, I want you to meet Audrey Lawrence." They did not shake hands but bowed slightly to each other, and Mrs. Slott, the woman who had been talking to him, faded away immediately, probably every bit as relieved to be rescued from him as he could possibly be to be rescued from her. Audrey had hoped that Peter would stay beside her, but looking round for him she found that he also had left them, so that she was now alone with Charles and all the onus of talking to him was on her shoulders. She felt very strongly that it was for him to begin the conversation. He might easily have offered to get her a drink, a civility which both Vivien and Peter had neglected in their anxiety to effect this introduction, but as he was not drinking himself it was probable that it did not occur to him. Far from attempting to start a conversation he was not even looking at her, but was contemplating the toe of his shoe with immense gravity. The silence between them actually only lasted a few seconds, but it seemed to Audrey like an eternity, and she was furious with herself that in the end it was she who was the one to break it, for she could bear it no longer. "Aren't you drinking

anything?" she asked. It was an idiotic thing to say, no doubt, but she felt impelled to say something, and it was the only remark which came into her head. He looked up at last and uttered the one word, "No." His voice had a curious deep vibrant quality. She had never before heard such a deep voice. His rudeness infuriated her and stung her. If he wouldn't talk to her she would be damned if she would talk to him. She would turn her back on him and walk away and leave him to stew in his own incivility, but for some reason she did not move. She seemed incapable of movement. His eyes had fallen again and she noticed that his black brows were contracted in a frown. His arms were crossed and he appeared to be in an attitude of waiting. She had every opportunity of studying his face, and she could not help thinking how like he was to a portrait by Velazquez she had seen at the National Gallery - a portrait of a gentleman lent by the Duke of Wellington. The only difference was that the gentleman in the portrait had worn a beard and this man was clean-shaven, but he would have looked wonderful, she decided, at a fancy dress ball as a Spanish grandee. There was pride in his face, and a certain cruelty, and yet an unmistakable look of high breeding. If she had not been feeling so very uncomfortable, she would have been quite content to go on studying his face as an artistic curiosity, but she realized that if she were to stay there she must say something to break this awful silence. The best thing obviously would be to turn her back on him and walk away, but if she were to do that would it not be tantamount to failing Vivien at the very first test? A sudden wave of anger swept over her and she found her tongue. "You don't seem to be enjoying the party very much, Mr. Pendleton," she said in an acid voice.

He looked up again, and this time he looked at her - looked right into her and, as it seemed to her, right through her - with eyes that almost appeared to have a glow of red fire in their depths, as he answered, "Please don't think, Miss - Miss -" "Lawrence," she prompted him. "Please don't think, Miss Lawrence, that you're obliged to entertain me with conversation. I didn't come here for a party. I came here to meet a certain young lady, Miss May- bridge, and I'm waiting, without, I trust, undue impatience, until she's at liberty to speak to me. In the meantime, I shouldn't like to think I'm detaining you from the delights of this - er - party. I do assume you that I have no objection whatsoever to being left by myself." Audrey bit her lip. The insolence of the man! She realized that she had been snubbed, badly snubbed, but she was not the person to lie down under a snub when once her blood was up. "I think it's a great pity, then," she retorted, "that you didn't wait downstairs. I've been brought up to believe that one owes it to one's hostess, when one accepts an invitation, to pull one's weight, and do what one can to help to make the occasion a success—or at least to show civility to one's fellow guests." The words came tumbling out. She was so angry that she was trembling all over. Charles bowed and a slight smile flickered over his face - but it was not a friendly smile. It seemed to her to be a smile of disdain, a smile of scorn. "You've evidently been very well brought up, Miss Lawrence," he replied. "You don't agree with me?" she demanded. "You don't think one owes anything to one's hostess?" "I think it depends upon the invitation," he replied. "There is such a thing as being invited under false pretences."

"Good manners should serve us on all occasions," she retorted. "Good manners are a substitute for kind hearts. The kind-hearted can dispense with them - they can be relied upon to behave in a decent way without them - but for the hard-hearted, the cruel, I should have thought that they were indispensable." She was very angry or she could not have spoken like this. "Good manners are a substitute for kind hearts," Charles repeated in his deep voice. "I think I shall remember that. You have a pretty turn of phrase, Miss Lawrence.... I hope you're not a journalist." "Why on earth should I be a journalist?" she asked in genuine astonishment. "Or a novelist?" "Gracious me, no. I can't write at all." "I'm extremely glad to hear it." "Why?" "I can't abide career women." This augured ill for poor Vivien. It was on the tip of her tongue to retort, "I hear you can't abide women in any shape or form," but she recollected herself. To be rude to him, to quarrel with him, could not serve Vivien's cause. She turned round and caught Vivien's eye (she and Peter had been watching her nearly all the time, if she had but known it), and made a movement with her head to summon her over. Vivien came at once, closely followed by Peter. "Where's your father ?" Audrey asked her. "I think he's downstairs in the sitting-room," she replied.

"Ah, Miss Maybridge," Charles said with a certain courtesy. "Perhaps at last I shall have the pleasure of saying a few words to you. I didn't wish to interrupt you while you were busy with your other guests, but as my time is short..." Vivien gave Audrey a terrified, appealing look, 'Perhaps you could persuade your brother to have a drink," Audrey said to Peter. "Oh, I'm so sorry," Vivien said. "Haven't you been offered one? How dreadful. I'll go and get you one at once." "Please don't run away, Miss Maybridge," Charles raid quietly. "I don't want anything to drink, thank you." "Don't you think you'd be happier talking downstairs?" Audrey asked. "It would be so much quieter." "Yes, what a good idea," Peter said quickly. "Let's go down to the sitting room. Come on, Viv. Come on, Charles." He started off, expecting the others to follow him, and Audrey had just begun to heave a sigh of relief, when Charles turned to her very deliberately and said, "Aren't you coming with us, Miss Lawrence?" and there was nothing for Audrey to do but to follow them. Downstairs, they found Henry Maybridge alone in the sitting-room. He had obviously gone down there to escape from the party and was sunk in a large armchair with a book in his hand, one of the dogs on his lap and a large whisky and soda on the table beside him. Altogether he looked the very picture of comfort. He put down his book guiltily when they came in and tried to struggle to his feet, no easy matter with the heavy dog on his lap. Vivien ran to him and picked up the dog and held it under her arm. "Daddy, this is Peter's brother," she said,

"Mr. Charles Pendleton.... This is my father," The two men shook hands and Henry Maybridge offered Charles a whisky which he accepted, and they all sat down. This was as the meeting should have been from the very beginning. Audrey could sense Peter's relief, and Vivien, who was acutely sensitive to everything he was feeling, lost a great deal of her embarrassment in consequence. Charles, however, remained stiff and distant, though he did reply politely enough to any questions put to him and even made some remarks on his own account, but nobody could have accused him of being voluble. His resemblance to a Spanish grandee was even more marked now that he was sitting down. There was a proud tilt to his head, a curve to his nostril, a slant to his black brows which betokened the born aristocrat. In spite of herself, she felt afraid of him and wondered how she had ever had the temerity to speak to him as she had spoken just now upstairs. The only one of them who appeared not to be in the least overawed by him was Henry Maybridge, who, having recovered from his consternation at being found hiding away from the party, was now talking away in his slow, gentle voice; making, Audrey hoped, a very good impression. He was an intelligent man and, though rarely given the scope to show what was in him, appeared to very great advantage when on his own, like this, without his wife's exuberant personality to overshadow him. Audrey was just beginning to think that perhaps the party had been a success, after all, for it had given the opportunity for Charles to meet Vivien's father without Thelma, when suddenly the door opened and Thelma burst in. "Why, there you all are!" she exclaimed. "I couldn't think what on earth had happened to you. What are you doing in here? You've got nothing to drink, nothing to eat...." "Oh, Mummy, we're having such a nice quiet time," Vivien interposed. "We came down here so that we could talk."

"Talk away, then,' Thelma replied good-naturedly, but this injunction had the immediate effect of tying all their tongues; "You haven't got enough light on in here," she went on. Charles immediately got up and said that he must be going. "I'll come with you," Peter put in. "Oh, must you go?" Vivien asked him in an agonized little voice. "I'll ring you up either tonight or tomorrow morning," he said hurriedly. Charles bowed to them all in turn, and left the room followed by Peter. "Well, good riddance to him," Thelma exclaimed as soon as they heard the front door slam behind them. "Of all the rude, boorish, stuck-up hateful creatures I've ever met he takes the cake!" "What, Mr. Pendleton?" Henry Maybridge asked mildly. "He struck me as being a great charmer." "That's all you know about it," Thelma retorted. "He's telling his precious little brother at this moment just what he thinks of us, but believe me it's mild compared to what I think of him! Don't you worry, Viv, if Peter can't marry without the permission of that stuckup so-and-so he's not worth having.. . . Come along, baby, let's go back: to the party and get the taste of him out of our mouths," and she held out her hand to her daughter. "I don't want to go back," Vivien said. "I don't feel like a party. I'm going up to my room," and she slipped past her mother and ran out of the door.

"Oh, my goodness," Thelma groaned. "I could wring that man's neck with my own hands and enjoy it . . . Well, I've got to go back to those people upstairs. Are you coming, Audrey?" "I don't think I will." "Well, I've got to go. It wouldn't do for me not to feel like it." Audrey immediately felt contrite. "I'll come up in a minute," she said. "I've been talking to him, don't forget. Give me a moment to recover myself." "Yes, I saw you being palmed off on to him. I don't wonder you feel like a limp rag. Poor Brenda Slott was almost in a state of collapse after five minutes with him. . . . Well, come on up when you feel like it. We can really begin to enjoy ourselves now." "Tell me, Miss Lawrence," Henry Maybridge said as soon as Thelma had left the room. "What is all this about?" "Vivien is in love with Peter -" "I've gathered that much." "But this half-brother of his, Charles, whom you were talking to just now, is more like a father to him than a brother, it seems, and Peter brought him along this evening to introduce him to Vivien." Henry Maybridge groaned again. "Why wasn't I told? Why does Thelma do these things without telling me, bless her heart?... Poor little Vivien!" "I think I'll go up to her," Audrey said. "I'm afraid she's very unhappy. I don't like the idea of her being alone in her room."

"Yes, yes," Henry Maybridge replied. "You go up to her. It's very kind of you. ... I don't know why I'm never told anything. So Thelma arranged this party in his honour, did she? . . . Oh, dear, she is a wonder. She is superb! There's no one like her in the world," and to Audrey's surprise he began to laugh softly to himself with a huge sort of enjoyment. What a curious man he is, she thought to herself as she went upstairs. She knew which was Vivien's room, and knocked gently on the door. "Who's that?" a strangled little voice asked. "It's Audrey. Can I come in?" and she opened the door and went in without waiting for permission. Vivien was lying face downwards on the bed. She raised herself on her elbow when Audrey came in and looked round. Her hair was tousled and her eyes swollen from crying. Audrey went over to her and sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand. "Don't be upset, Viv darling," she said gently, "it'll all come right in the end. He's of age. He's not dependent on his brother. If he loves you, and I'm quite sure he does, he won't let anything stand in the way. He'll come back to you, you see if he doesn't, brother or no brother." "I hate him, I hate him!" Vivien burst out. "I know," Audrey replied, thinking that she was referring to Charles. "He's a detestable man. The most beastly man I've ever met. Rude, conceited... detestable in every way." "I don't mean him, I mean Peter. I hate Peter. I hate him, I hate him! I wouldn't have him now if he came crawling to me on his bended knees." She suddenly sat up on the bed, her eyes blazing. "I hate him; I've completely finished with him...." This was quite a new development. "What's he done, poor boy?" Audrey asked in some surprise.

"Done? What's he done? Don't you know what he's done? He's done something terrible to me - really terrible. This evening he made me oh, I don't know how to tell you - for a moment he made me feel ashamed of Mummy. Ashamed of my own mother. I'll never forgive him for that - never as long as I live. He was ashamed of her in front of his brother and I suddenly saw her through his eyes. My own darling, wonderful, precious mother I'm so proud of -Oh, Audrey, it's hateful; I'm hateful. I hate myself.... I detest him and his beastly .brother. What right have they got to come here and scoff at Mummy - my beautiful, wonderful mother.... Oh, Audrey, do you think she's hurt? Do you think they've hurt her?" "No, of course not. It's she who despises them for being like that. She's got much too much pride and dignity and sense of her own value to let their opinion worry her." "You think she's wonderful, don't you?" "I do indeed." "And so does Peter, that's what makes me hate him so. He's met her lots of times and he always thought her perfect until this evening. He's been to her show and he told me he thought she was marvellous in it. . . . But this evening, oh, it was awful, and I felt it too, that's what was so dreadful." "Don't upset yourself like this," Audrey said. "You're getting all worked up about nothing. Peter is frightened of his brother, there's no doubt about that, but it was his brother he should have felt ashamed of. His brother behaved abominably, really inexcusably. I've never seen such manners. He may think himself very high and mighty, but the lowest little scullion wouldn't have behaved with such a complete lack of breeding." She worked herself up, as she spoke, into a state of intense indignation, remembering his rudeness to herself. "No," she went on, "it's for Peter to feel ashamed of his

brother, not of any relation of yours, and I should tell him so if I were you." "I shall," Vivien said. "You're perfectly right. I shall tell him I think his precious Charles behaved abominably. I shall quote your words but I won't say they're yours. How did they go? He may think himself very high and mighty, but the lowest little scullion wouldn't have behaved with such a complete lack of breeding. I'll tell him that and tell him to pass it on to his precious brother!" "That's right," Audrey said. "That's a better spirit, that's much better than tears. Tears never did anybody any good. We'll have Black Charles eating out of your mother's hand yet, believe me." "How? How can we manage that?" Vivien asked quickly. Audrey had not meant her words to be taken too literally, but she did not like to go back on them now, so she replied, "Oh, I don't know how exactly, but we shall, you mark my words; we'll manage it somehow between us." "Oh, Audrey, you're such a friend. What should I do without you? . . . You know I don't really hate Peter, don't you?" "I rather guessed you didn't." "But it makes it easier when I hate him. It doesn't hurt so much, and I think he deserves it too, don't you?" "Yes, I think he does deserve to be hated just a little tiny bit," Audrey replied, smiling. "I shouldn't come round to him at once." "I won't. I'm not at all sure I shall come round at all.... But perhaps he won't give me the chance to be horrid to him," Vivien added as a

terrible thought struck her. "Perhaps he won't ring up or do anything." Audrey couldn't help laughing. "I shouldn't worry about that if I were you," she said. "He'll give you the chance all right." "Do you really think so?... Oh, Audrey, I feel so miserable about Mummy. What can I do to make up?" "Do you really want to know what I think?" "Yes." "Go and comb your hair and wash your eyes and powder your nose and come down to the party and help her entertain her guests." They went down a few minutes later and entered the drawing-room arm-in-arm. Vivien's entrance was greeted with delight. The people there seemed to know (either intuitively or else they had been told) that she had been unhappy and they made a great fuss over her, taking hold of her and lifting her up on to the buffet. She was sitting there, very much enjoying herself, the queen of an admiring circle, when the door suddenly opened and Peter came in. Audrey saw him first and looked quickly at Vivien to see how she would behave when she saw him. The sudden heightening of her colour was the only sign she gave; she did not change her position or greet him in any way. He went swiftly over to her and whispered something in her ear, but she retorted out loud, "It's very rude to whisper, Peter. Weren't you ever taught that? You have been badly brought up!" Everybody laughed and Peter flushed up to his eyes. "Are you coming to join our party?" she went on. "Get yourself a drink and enjoy yourself. We're having a wonderful time."

Audrey could not help admiring the way she did it, though perhaps she was overdoing it just a little bit. Peter withdrew and looked round the room and when his eyes fell on Audrey they lit up so that she realized that he had been looking for her. He came over to her and drew her to one side out of earshot of everybody else. "What's the matter with Vivien?" he asked. "I don't think there's anything the matter with her. Why?" "She seems rather over-gay, doesn't she? Has she been like this ever since I left?" Not for anything in the world would she have told him that Vivien had been lying on her bed crying most of the time he had been away, but this was probably what he would have liked to hear. "More or less," she replied vaguely. "After all, this party was really given for her - and your brother - and she has obligations towards her mother's guests." She spoke with a certain asperity. "I don't see any reason to be particularly gay," he said gloomily. "Audrey, I feel I can talk to you. I wanted to talk to Vivien, but she's snubbed me.... Audrey, do you realize at all what it meant, this meeting between Vivien and my brother?" "What it meant?" "What it meant to me - and to Vivien I should like to think, but now I'm not sure any more. Audrey, you know Vivien and I are in love with each other, don't you? I want to marry her more than anything in the world, but I have to get my brother's consent first. That was why this meeting was so important." "And now he's refused his consent?" Audrey asked.

"Can you wonder? It was a disastrous party. A disastrous way of meeting." "I can't say I was impressed with your brother's behaviour," Audrey replied sharply. "In fact, I thought he was most appallingly rude we all did. Quite unforgivably rude." Peter looked so miserable at this that her heart melted. "He didn't expect this sort of thing," he began in his brother's defence. "He loathes parties. He would never have consented to come for a single moment if he'd realized that it was going to be like this. And I had no idea myself or I should never have brought him. When we arrived we were at once shown up into this madhouse and there was no escape. I just introduced him to Vivien, but he had no chance to talk to her before Thelma swept him away and introduced him to a series of people... Charles never speaks to strangers. It was the most terrible experience for him...." Audrey felt so like laughing that she could hardly restrain herself. "I think your brother must be very spoilt in his family," she said. "You don't understand," he replied. "You don't know what Charles is. It's not that he's spoilt, but he's a complete autocrat at home. Getting him to come here at all was the most wonderful triumph for me and he only consented because he's so awfully good to me - he'd do almost anything for me - and then to find this party going on.... Vivien thinks I'm afraid of him, but it's not fear, it's respect. I can't get her to understand that. We all almost worship him at home everybody does up there." "I don't see that that's any excuse for his being so rude." "Was he rude to you ?" he asked in some surprise. "Most certainly, but I'm not only thinking of myself; he was rude to all Thelma's guests whom he had anything to do with."

"I'm surprised he was rude to you," Peter said, "because he told me you were so very rude to him." "I? Rude to him?" "Yes, he wanted to know who you were and all about you." "He must have been mistaking me for someone else." "No. He said the dark girl with the green eyes and the long eyelashes - he could only have meant you. He said you had attacked him unmercifully and in a most uncalled-for way." "Well, really!" she exclaimed. "I did think it was a pity," he said. "You being a friend of Vivien's. I can't see what possible good you hoped to do by alienating him." She was almost speechless with indignation. "I've never heard anything so unfair," she said. "He started it all. He just refused to speak to me." "He said you suddenly began to attack him for no reason whatsoever...." "Oh, it's too absurd," she said. "Anyway, that's not important; what is important is that he's refused his consent." "He hasn't in so many words. I don't think he would ever really refuse me anything, but he feels quite convinced that I shall regret it - that we shall both regret it. He asked me whether Vivien would be willing to give up the stage for my sake and I had to tell him I wasn't sure. He said that if she wasn't willing to give it up our getting married would be quite out of the question, and I agree with him; but he also said that even if she were willing to give it up he didn't

think she would be happy living up in Northumberland' - she wasn't used to that sort of rough country life." "Do you have to live up there?" "It's my home. I shall inherit the place one day - that is if Charles doesn't marry and have children of his own, which doesn't seem very likely. Besides, my work's up there - my livelihood." "What exactly is your work?" "I help to manage the estate, while Charles looks after the farm. He works tremendously hard." "Would your wife have to live in the same house with your brother?" "Oh, no, we should have a home of our own. He's going to build me a house on the estate." "You don't feel you could marry without his consent?" "I could, but it would mean looking for another job." "Wouldn't Vivien be worth that?" "Of course she would, but I can't imagine being happy anywhere except in Northumberland. I could never stick a London life. Charles is right there, he pointed that out to me; and what I'm wondering is, would Vivien be happy in the country? She's never lived in the country; she can't do any country things.'' "Why don't you ask her? Surely that's a point for her to settle." "Charles suggested that I should ask her up to Coburn."

"He did?" "Yes; he said, 'Why don't you ask her and her mother to stay at Coburn before you make up your mind to anything definite?'" Audrey was extremely interested in this piece of information, for she detected something underlying Charles's suggestion which boded no good for Vivien. Surely Charles would not invite them up there unless he thought that it would in some way further his own purpose, and what could be his purpose except to prevent this match between Vivien and his brother? It seemed that Charles was no fool; rather was he diabolically clever, and poor little Vivien would need all the help she could get. Audrey's eyes narrowed. "Are you going to ask them?" she asked. "Yes, of course. I want to talk the whole thing over with Viv tonight I wish I could get her away from this confounded party. I've got to go home tomorrow, and goodness knows when I shall see her again.... Look here, Audrey, be an angel and ask her to ring me up as soon as she can get away. She knows the number. Tell her I'll be waiting for her. I can't stay here. I can't pretend to be in a party mood. Don't tell her what I've told you. I'll tell it all to her myself." He pressed her hand and left her, and she went over to Vivien who was still in the thick of the party, and hung about waiting for a chance to deliver her message. She was a bit tired of the party herself by now and felt that it was high time she went home, but before she left she found the opportunity of delivering her message. "I don't think I shall bother to ring him up at all," was all Vivien said, and Audrey did not press the point. She felt that anything that could be done to strengthen Peter's resolution at this stage would be

to the good, and she could think of no way more calculated to strengthen it than a show of indifference on Vivien's part.

Vivien was triumphant when Audrey saw her at Paul and Gayfere's on the following Tuesday. "I've had the most divine letter from him," she said. "I simply must show it to you." "Did you see him that Sunday evening?" Audrey asked. "No, and I never even rang him up. I wasn't going to forgive him as easily as that. I was very angry with him, you know." "I know you were. Didn't you see him at all before he left?" She shook her golden head. "No, I went out that Sunday evening, which made things easier. I don't think I would have had the strength of mind not to ring him up if I'd been all alone that evening, but a lot of us went out for dinner and we went on to a night club afterwards. Apparently he rang me up every half-hour - so Magda told me - and was in the most awful state. He rang up again before catching his train and I spoke to him then but I was only half awake and I hardly remember what I said and this morning I got this from him," and she searched in her bag and brought out a letter which she handed to Audrey. "Do you really want me to read it?" Audrey asked. "I don't somehow feel I ought to read his letters." "I want you to," Vivien replied, and then she added in a voice full of relish, "I'm so proud of it." Audrey opened up the letter, which was already so creased that it must have been read a dozen times, and read as follows,

Oh, Vivien, I don't know how I'm going to live until I see you again. It was so unkind of you not to see me yesterday evening, but I suppose I deserved it, though I can't quite understand what you're punishing me for.... Oh, darling, darling, I had so much I simply had to talk to you about, but now it all seems unimportant beside the one great . doubt that's eating up my mind. Do you love me or don't you? Nothing else in the world matters. You've got to tell me. You can't keep me in suspense. You can't be so cruel. I know you're not cruel. I was going to ask you whether you would give up the stage for me, but now that's just faded into the background - everything's faded into the background except this one gigantic question. Do you love me? Write to me at once when you get this if you have any heart in you. PETER. "Have you written to him?" Audrey asked, as she folded up the letter and handed it back to her. "Yes," she said. "I wrote as soon as I got his, as he asked me to." "No need to ask you what you said," Audrey laughed, as she saw Vivien kiss the letter before putting it away in her bag. "Do you think I was wrong?" Vivien asked quickly. "I've punished him enough, haven't I?" "Yes, of course you have," Audrey replied. "I don't believe in keeping up that kind of pretence too long. You often lose more than you gain by it, and then have the knowledge that you've only got yourself to blame into the bargain. ... But I rather wish you'd seen him all the same." "Why?"

"He had a lot to tell you; a lot of things to discuss with you." "Did he talk to you?" Vivien asked eagerly. "Yes, he did a bit." "What did he say?" "He said one thing you'll like. He said he wanted to marry you more than anything else in the world." "Oh, Audrey, did he really say that?" Vivien heaved a delicious sigh. "I wouldn't make it up, would I?" "What else did he say?" "He said how 'very important this meeting had been between you and his brother, because he couldn't marry without his brother's consent." "Why not?" Audrey watched her face in the glass as she asked this question and noticed the lines of rebellion that formed round her mouth, and decided that in spite of her angelic looks she had a will of her own. She had had an example of it on that Sunday evening. She would never have believed that Vivien was capable of the strength of mind she had shown on that occasion, but then her loyalty to her mother had been involved and her mother was the strongest influence in her life. She could not have punished Peter so thoroughly for being unkind to herself, but she could, and had, punished him for the way he had behaved to her mother. "By the way," Audrey said, "I think you ought to make it quite clear to him why you were unkind to him on Sunday. He said in his letter he didn't understand what you were punishing him for."

"Oh, don't worry, I made it quite clear to him in my letter this morning. I told him first that I loved him and then I told him what I thought of his brother's behaviour towards Mummy. I quoted your words, as I said I was going to. I hadn't forgotten them. . . . But go on, go on, you haven't told me yet why he can't marry without his brother's consent." "If he does he'll lose his job. He helps to manage the estate up there, you know." "Well, he can find another job, can't he?" "Yes, I dare say he can, but I think he would still want to live in Northumberland." "Well, there are jobs in Northumberland, aren't there?" "Would you be prepared to live in Northumberland?" "Audrey, I love him," Vivien replied with an odd, childish dignity, "and I would live with him anywhere in the world he wanted me to." "You've never lived in the country." "It's not so different from life anywhere else, is it?" "Yes, it is a different life." "What does it matter?" Vivien asked a little impatiently. "As long as we're together and he's leading the life he likes.,. what does anything else matter?" "Then you would be perfectly prepared to give up the stage?"

"For him? Yes, of course I would. I would give up anything for him. . . . But not for his beastly brother," Vivien added with a frown and a hardening of her mouth. "I think he'll probably ask you and your mother to stay up there." "Did he say so?" "His brother suggested it." "His brother did? Then he can't be quite as horrible as I thought." "Can't he?" Audrey said to herself, but aloud she merely remarked, "You'll go, I suppose, if he asks you?" "Why, of course. . . . But I don't see how Mummy can getaway." "What about you?" "Oh, I'm afraid my show is coming off. This is the last week. I shan't be able to go by myself, though." "Why not?" "Oh, I should be much too frightened.... You'll have to come with me." "What about my work?" Audrey asked laughingly. "Nobody seems to think that my work is of any importance. ... Besides, I shouldn't be at all welcome up there." "Why not?" "Because it seems that I was very rude to Mr. Charles Pendleton." "Rude to him? Oh, how wonderful! Were you really?"

"I didn't think I was, on the contrary I prevented myself from quarrelling with him for your sake, but Peter tells me that his brother told him that I was extremely rude; that I suddenly attacked him unmercifully for no reason." "Oh, I am glad!" "But I didn't. I only told him I thought one had an obligation towards one's hostess if one accepted an invitation. That wasn't rude, was it?" "I suppose it depends on the way you said it. I hope you said it just as acidly as you possibly could. . . - But go on, what else did Peter tell you ?'' "Nothing else." "Nothing else?" Vivien's voice was full of disappointment, "Oh, Audrey, I'm so happy," she went on after a moment or two. "I agree with him, nothing matters so long as we love each other. The rest will take care of itself.... Won't it?" "Yes, I expect it will" "You sound doubtful." "No, everything will come all right so long as you both have enough determination." Audrey had sounded doubtful because, for a moment, memory - agonizing memory - of her, own loss had come flooding back to her. In her own case, the bare fact that they had both loved each other had not been enough; but she brushed the thought aside impatiently. It was bad enough that it should sometimes worry her in the evenings without interfering with her work in the day time.

Later on that week she went to Verne Street on her way home from work in answer to a pressing invitation from Vivien. When she got there she found Thelma and Vivien in the sitting-room. She was greeted by Vivien with a letter waved triumphantly in her face and the words, "I've got a message for you." "For me? Who from?" "From Black Charles himself. . . . No, it's not really a message, but listen to this," and she began to read the letter, " 'I told Charles the things you said in your letter about his manners, and his comment was, "I suppose I must thank the green-eyed Miss Lawrence for that happy turn of phrase about the lowest scullion." ' How did he know it was you, do you think? I never even told Peter... I had no idea Peter would be brave enough to tell him, but I'm jolly glad he did, and it couldn't have done much harm because he has asked us to stay just the same -Peter says, 'If your mother can't come, bring any friend you like,' so you've got to come, Audrey. There's no one else I want." "How can I possibly get away?" "Oh, surely you can leave your silly old business." "I could come for the week-end, but it wouldn't be worthwhile going all that way just for the week-end. I couldn't leave till Saturday afternoon and I should have to be back by Monday morning." "I know!" Vivien exclaimed. "What about Christmas? You could get away for Christmas, couldn't you?" "Your mother will be able to go by then." "No, you must count me out," Thelma said. "I've got a matinee on Boxing Day."

"Then you'll have to come with me for Christmas," Vivien said to Audrey. "I don't suppose dear Charles would dream of having the 'greeneyed Miss Lawrence' in his house," Thelma put in. "I hear you were very rude to him, my dear," she added to Audrey. "Good for you. I congratulate you." "Oh, Mummy, don't try and put her off," Vivien exclaimed. "She's got to come with me. Peter said I could bring any friend I like and the only friend I do like is Audrey, so she's got to come." "No, your mother is right," Audrey said. "I'm sure he won't have me in the house if he thinks I was rude to him." "I'll write and ask Peter then to find out whether he would mind. If Peter says it's all right, will you come?" "Yes, I'll come if Peter says it is all right, but I'm sure he won't." "But will you promise to come if he does?" "All right." "No, that's not enough. Will you promise?" "All right, I promise." "There you are, Mummy, you're a witness to what she says. She's promised to come if Peter says it's all right" Audrey laughed. She felt quite sure that Charles Pendleton would not agree to her coming, and in a way she was sorry, for she believed that Vivien would need help and protection during this visit, and that she, who had seen through Charles's scheme, was the best person to give her that help. Poor little Vivien, she had no idea

of the plot that was being hatched against her, and neither had Peter for that matter. Vivien would go up there, quite unsuspicious, only longing to be with Peter and to see his home, while all the time that wicked brother would be planning how best to make her appear at a disadvantage when she got there so that Peter could see for himself how hopeless it would be for him to marry her. It was such a clever scheme; so much cleverer than refusing his consent point blank; so much cleverer to get Peter to break it off of his own free will. Vivien rang Audrey up the moment she received an answer to her letter asking whether she might bring Audrey with her. Audrey was busy in her office and sounded rather cross on the telephone. "I've heard from Peter this morning," Vivien said, "and it's perfectly all right about your coming for Christmas. He asked Charles and Charles said... Wait a minute, I'll read you out what he said." "I'm terribly busy," Audrey interrupted. "I'll ring you up later." "No, I shan't be a second. Here it is, I've got it. He says, 'If it will not offend Miss Lawrence's susceptibilities to sit down to table with one who has not even a substitute for a kind heart, she will be very welcome at Coburn.' I don't quite know what he means by all that, but anyway you'll be very welcome, that's the main thing." "I know what he means all right," Audrey replied. "Look here, I must run; we'll discuss it all next time we meet. Good-bye," and she cut off abruptly, but not before she had heard Vivien beginning, "Don't forget, you've promised …' So he had not forgotten her words, Audrey thought. He was going to persist in thinking that she had been rude to him, was he? Well, let him. She couldn't help it. He would have good opportunity for revenge if she went to stay up there. Let him do his worst. She

would fight him - yes, fight him both on her own account and on behalf of her friend. Let him do his worst.

CHAPTER THREE FOR the next few weeks until Christmas came and the visit to Coburn could take place, Vivien's romance was in a state of suspension. She and Peter were now unofficially engaged, but Charles had made a stipulation that the engagement should not be publicly announced until after she had been up to Northumberland, but if after that they were still determined to get married, he would no longer withhold his consent. "He's being so sweet about it," Peter wrote to Vivien, "that I feel we must let him have his way over this, but Christmas is such a horribly long time to wait, I do wish you could come up before." Vivien wished so, too, but she did not want to go up alone and as there was no one she wanted to take with her except Audrey (her mother was not able to go), and Audrey could not possibly get away before Christmas, there was nothing to do but to wait. It was a restless period of waiting for poor Vivien, especially as she had nothing to do. Her play had been taken off, and in accordance with her assurance to Peter that she was willing to give up the stage for his sake, she had refused another part which had been offered to her, though Audrey realized how great a pang it had cost her to refuse it. She was very much at a loose end, the evenings especially, when Thelma was at the theatre, hanging heavy on her hands. She was always ringing Audrey up and suggesting that they should do something together. Although she had plenty of friends she did not like to go out with another man and seemed to prefer Audrey's company to that of any of her other girl friends. Perhaps it was that she could talk to Audrey about Peter because Audrey had been in from the beginning, so to speak, whereas from the rest of her friends she was bound to keep Peter a secret. For Audrey, who was very busy, Christmas came all too quickly, and if it hadn't been for her affection for Vivien she would very

much have liked to put off the whole visit, for she couldn't see how, from her own point of view, it was going to be anything but unpleasant. At best she would only play the part of gooseberry; however, she had promised, and besides, she did really feel that Vivien would need her. The day came and they took an early morning train from King's Cross. (Christmas was on the Thursday this year and they were going up on the Tuesday and staying over the weekend.) They changed at Newcastle and took a local train to Helsey, which, though the nearest station to Coburn, was still five miles away from the Castle. It struck them as being bitterly cold when they got out on to the platform at Helsey. It was very dark and an angry wind was blowing, and they looked around in vain for someone to meet them, but they seemed to be the only people on the platform apart from one very old porter who was too busy getting things out of the van at the far end of the train to pay any attention to them and their luggage. "You wait here with the luggage," Audrey said, "and I'll go and see if there's anyone to meet us outside." She came back in a few moments to report that there was no sign of anyone and that she thought she had better ring up the Castle, but perhaps it would be best to wait another five minutes or so in case there had been some mistake as to the time of the train. By this time the porter was ready to attend to them, for the train had gone on. He told them to go into the station and said that he would bring their luggage along in due course. Vivien informed him that she had a trunk in the van and hoped that he had got it out all right. He mumbled something about not having seen any trunk, but she assured him that it must have been there as she had seen it put in at Newcastle. Audrey had all her belongings with her in two small suitcases, but Vivien had preferred to pack everything in a trunk and

take only a small night case with her in the carriage. It now looked, however, as if her trunk had been lost, for when the porter eventually brought everything along on a barrow, the trunk was not there, and he swore that he had taken nothing else off the train because there had been nothing else in the van labelled to Helsey. Poor Vivien was by this time almost on the verge of tears - no one to meet them after their long, tiring journey, the bitter cold, and now all her luggage lost! "Don't worry," Audrey said comfortingly. "It was labelled in your name with Coburn Castle on it. It's bound to turn up. It must have gone on to the next station. They'll send it back in the morning and we'll come in and fetch it tomorrow. You won't need it tonight. You've got everything you need in your little case." "But I've got nothing to change into for dinner. I feel so dirty in this, having travelled in it all day. I was longing to have a bath and a change... Oh, dear, what's happened to Peter? Why hasn't he come to meet us ?" "Of course it will turn up," Audrey assured her confidently. "Don't worry. I'm going to telephone to the Castle," She left Vivien talking to the porter and went in to the booking office to telephone. She didn't know the number of the Castle, but asked the girl on the exchange to get it for her. In a moment or two the girl came back to say that the line was out of order. What were they to do next? The only thing seemed to be to wait, because it appeared that there was no car or taxi for hire. Audrey did her best to comfort poor Vivien, who could hardly speak from cold and disappointment. They waited another quarter of an hour and then Audrey said, "I'll go and have another talk to the stationmaster and see if something

really can't be done about getting a car." An idea - a very unpleasant idea - had just struck her. Could it be possible that Charles had deliberately arranged that this should happen? No, surely not, he couldn't be as cruel as all that. And certainly he couldn't have had anything to do with the loss of Vivien's trunk. No, that was impossible, and yet arriving like this to find nobody there to meet them and the telephone out of order . . .? Could that be his work? Once having got the idea into her head it was very difficult to get it out again, but could Charles be capable of such infamy? Supposing he had contrived it, wasn't it already having the desired effect on Vivien? . . . Oh, she must put spirit into Vivien. If this were Charles's handiwork, she was not going to let him triumph already. She had a talk with the stationmaster who was not very helpful. If they could not hire a vehicle from Helsey itself, what about the next place? If they couldn't get a car, what about a cart of some kind? They simply had to get to the Castle. They were Mr. Pendleton's guests and he would be expecting them. The stationmaster scratched his head and seemed to be at a loss. If they were really expected at the Castle somebody would come for them sooner or later, was his only contribution. Audrey returned to Vivien biting her lip. It seemed almost as if there was a plot of unhelpfulness against them. Could it be that Charles had given instructions to the stationmaster? Oh, it was too absurd to imagine such a thing. She was giving him credit for an almost diabolical wickedness. She must get the idea out of her head. "Are you quite sure, Vivien, that Peter has got the right day and the right time? Are you sure it isn't to-morrow he thinks we're arriving?" she asked. "No, quite sure. I've thought of that and I've just looked up his letter again. Here it is." It was perfectly clear - it definitely said Tuesday, the twenty-third, and gave the correct time of the train.

"Then he's had a breakdown," Audrey said. "You don't think he's had an accident?" Vivien exclaimed suddenly. "No, of course not. I think he's had a breakdown - something more than a puncture - and that he's walked back to the Castle to get help.... I think he's having just as bad a time as we are - worse, probably - and that he'll be here at any moment now." And at that moment they heard a car, and a few seconds later Peter and Vivien were in each other's arms. A babble of explanations followed, intermingled with, "You poor, poor darling, haying to wait all this time," and "Poor Peter, having to go all the way back," for Audrey's explanation turned out to be the right one: a mile from the Castle the car had suddenly stopped and he had found to his consternation that he was out of petrol. He couldn't understand bow it could have happened because he was sure he had filled the tank up himself only yesterday - but he must have been mistaken, and there had been nothing for it but to walk back to Coburn and get the other car. "That's just what Audrey said had happened," Vivien exclaimed. He had apparently wasted more precious time by trying to telephone, but something had happened to the line and he could get no reply from the exchange. "We know," Audrey said, "because we tried to telephone to you and were told that your line was out of order." "I can't understand it," Peter said. "It was perfectly all right earlier on today because I put through a call after lunch. It seems to be a chapter of accidents, but here we are together at last, and that's all that matters. . . . Come along, you must be frozen."

Then Vivien told him of the other misfortune of her luggage. "Oh, that will be all right," he said airily, "we'll get it tomorrow. I'll talk to Mr. Crowther about it" Vivien, much comforted, got happily into the car beside Peter. "Another annoying thing has happened," she heard Peter saying. "The lights have gone wrong. We have our own generator, you know, but something's gone wrong with the blasted motor. I hope it won't be for long, though. Charles is very upset about it and is seeing to it himself, so I hope the lights will be on again by the time we get there." But the lights were not on again by the time they got there. The vast hall when they altered it was lit only by two meagre candles and the light of a smouldering wood fire. They groped their way upstairs following Peter with a candle. "Oh, this is a bore," he said. "It makes everything look so gloomy. Apparently the lights did come on half an hour ago for a few minutes, but they went off again. The others have all gone up to dress, and dinner's been put back a quarter of an hour." "I can't dress," Vivien said. "I've got nothing to change into." "That's all right; you wouldn't have time to dress, anyway. You'll just have time to wash." "I'll never find my way down again," Vivien said, as they followed him upstairs and along a corridor, up more stairs and down another passage. "Don't worry," Peter replied, "I'll come and fetch you. I'll show you the house properly in the morning.... You're in here, and Audrey's in there, next door. The bathroom's opposite. I hope you don't mind sharing a bathroom. You'll find hot water in your rooms. I'm afraid we haven't got any basins with running water. Do you think you'll

be able to see? ... I hope you've got everything you want. I'll be back for you in about ten minutes." Fortunately, their rooms had a communicating door so that they did not feel alone in their desolation. Even Audrey's heart sank when she looked round her vast room and saw the strange shadows thrown by the dim light of a single candle standing on the dressing-table. Vivien called out to her, "Oh, Audrey, I can't see to do my face, can you?" "My cases haven't come up yet," Audrey replied. "I haven't got anything to do mine with." "You can borrow my things." Vivien had not allowed her small case out of her sight since losing her trunk, and Peter had carried it up for her. "I think I'll just have a wash first," Audrey replied. She carried her candle over to the washing stand where an old- fashioned brass can covered with a towel was standing in the china basin. She noticed how delicious the soap smelt and how soft was the towel on which she dried her hands. It was real luxury to have linen like this, and yet the cold of the room was anything but luxurious. She wondered how she was ever going to be able to sleep that night for the cold, and she could hardly bring herself to take her coat off. When she had washed, she went into the next room, where she found Vivien hectically trying to make up her face in the bad light. "Can I really borrow your things?" she asked. "Yes, of course. That's the cleansing lotion; the cotton wool is in the drawer here. What kind of foundation do you like?" Just then there was knock at the door and Peter's voice called out, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, just one second," Vivien called back. "Will I do?" she asked Audrey hurriedly. Audrey scrutinized her. As far as she could see she was looking lovely and she told her so. "You're not ready, are you?" Vivien asked. "No, but don't wait for me," she told Vivien. "I'll find my own way down. You go on with Peter." "Are you sure?" and Vivien skipped away to the door without waiting for an answer. When left alone, Audrey re-did her face as best she could with Vivien's things. When she came to go downstairs she found that it was pitch dark outside, so she had to return for a candle. She had said glibly that she would find her own way down, but this proved to be no easy matter, for although she possessed a very good sense of direction, she could not even find the head of the stairs, and got hopelessly lost in a maze of passages. She stood quite still and strained her ears for the sound of voices, but she could hear nothing, nor could she see a glimmer of light anywhere. She opened a door which was near at hand and sprang back with a startled cry, creating a draught which extinguished her candle. She realized afterwards that all she had seen had been dust sheets covering up the furniture of an unoccupied room, but at the time it had looked just like a room full of ghosts and an unreasonable panic gripped her - the kind of panic which you get in a nightmare and which remains with you even after you wake up. It was pitch dark and she was shaking with fright and yet was afraid to move a step in any direction. The only thing to do seemed to be to call for help, and in the kind of voice in which a child calls for its mother when it is in trouble, she shouted out, "Is anyone there? I'm lost. Is anyone there?" "Where on earth are you?" a voice suddenly called back.

"Here - I don't know. I'm lost. Peter, is that you? I'm here. I don't know where I am. I'm completely lost." She saw the light of a candle before she saw him and ran towards it, and as he loomed up in front of her she cried out, "Oh, Peter, I'm so glad to see you! I was so frightened. ... The room in there, it's full of ghosts," and she fell against him and pressed her face against his chest. "Sh, sh," he said soothingly. "That's all right. No harm can come to you. There aren't any ghosts.... Sh, sh . .." and for a moment she felt the comforting touch of his hand on her hair - and it flashed through her brain, "How gentle he is. No wonder Vivien loves him." And then suddenly she sprang away from him. His voice! That deep voice. It wasn't Peter. It was Charles! "I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I thought you were Peter. I lost my head. I'm so sorry." "What happened?" he asked. "I was trying to find my way down and got lost, and then I opened a door and there was a draught and it blew out my candle - and the room was full of ghosts. . . . Oh, I realize now that it was only dust sheets ... but I was so frightened. ... It was stupid of me. I'm so sorry." "Stop saying you're sorry," he said. "It might have happened to anyone. Of course it's frightening. Peter should never have left you to find your way down alone.... There, are you all right now?" "Yes, I'm quite all right now," she said, forcing herself to laugh. He did not speak again until they reached the head of the stairs and then he said, "Take care you don't fall. You'd better hold on to the banister. These stairs are very highly polished and frightfully

slippery. ... I came up to look for you when you didn't come down. I'm afraid we've started dinner." "But of course," she replied. "I'm sorry I'm so late, and sorry you had to come and fetch me." "It's entirely Peter's fault," he replied. "It's a damn- fool thing to do to run out of petrol.... And then this trouble with the generator." When Charles opened the door of the dining-room, and ushered her in there she was almost dazzled by the lights although they were only oil-lamps. Apart from Peter and Vivien there were two other people seated at the great mahogany table - both women and both strangers to her. They were introduced as Mrs. Pendleton and Miss Celia Pendleton. "Where do you think I found her?" Charles demanded. "Wandering about in the red passage. How on earth she got there..." "I'm so sorry," Peter said, "we oughtn't to have left you." They had not got very far with the meal, for the soup plates were only just being cleared away when Audrey sat down. She had been put on Charles's left with Celia Pendleton beside her, while Mrs. Pendleton sat opposite Charles at the other end of the long table. Vivien was on Charles's right with Peter as her other neighbour. The dining-room struck Audrey as being vast in size. The walls were covered with crimson damask hung with family portraits; and from the high ceiling of richly carved plaster two great crystal chandeliere were hanging. The table was so long that the space between herself and Charles, and again the space between herself and Celia Pendleton, was almost the same as the length of a normal diningroom table, and she felt, not so much lost, as horribly conspicuous. Nor did this great table help to make conversation any easier, for

you could not say anything to your neighbour without being overheard by the whole table. In the size of the table, Audrey thought that again she detected Charles's deliberate handiwork. It was quite unnecessary that the table should have been as big as this; one or two leaves could easily have been removed from it, making the party much more congenial and intimate. She felt sure that Charles had done it on purpose and there was certainly nothing he could have done to make poor little Vivien appear more hopelessly out of things, especially as he and his aunt and cousin did their best to steer the conversation into difficult and controversial political topics. It was inevitable that Vivien should sit dumb and over-awed through most of that first meal, but she looked so winningly lovely in the lamplight that any male heart but Charles's would have been melted by her. Audrey, fortunately, was able to keep up her end of the conversation very creditably. The Pendleton women were obviously surprised, and much put out that she was able to hold her own so well, and were at last themselves forced to drop out of the conversation and leave her and Charles to a spirited discussion on India, while Vivien regarded her across the table with admiring and grateful eyes. "Oh, you're being so boring," Celia Pendleton said at last in her rather drawling voice. She obviously meant the remark for Audrey and not for Charles. "We've had enough of this. I do hate arguing." "What she really hates," Audrey thought to herself, "is anyone else being in the limelight." "You're at liberty not to listen," Charles snubbed her sharply, and Audrey knew that Celia would never forgive her for having been the cause, albeit the indirect cause, of this snub.

Audrey naturally kept her eyes on Charles while she was arguing with him and registered with one part of her mind certain things about his appearance. In the lamplight he appeared to her more than ever like a being out of another century. He seemed so perfectly at home in this great room at the head of this great table with his ancestors all round him on the walls, imperfectly seen in the dim light but acutely felt as watching, ghostly presences. His face was darker than ever, and the low light threw unaccustomed shadows upon it, giving it a sinister look which was, nevertheless, accompanied by a strange sort of beauty. What kind of a man was he? In the Middle Ages she would have believed him capable of anything - of murder even - and yet there would always be courage in his actions - courage and magnificence. And she could quite well imagine him going proudly, almost jauntily, to his execution, with a sneer on his lips for his enemies which would completely rob them of any triumph in his death. Just at that moment all the lights suddenly went on, almost blinding them with their brilliance, but in the general cries of relief and pleasure and satisfaction that followed, there was one dissentient voice: Charles was distinctly heard to remark, "A pity! I so infinitely prefer the candlelight." Audrey could not help wondering whether perhaps she had done him an injustice in attributing the failure of the lights to him. If he had been responsible surely he would have made some effort to hide the part he had played by at least pretending that he was glad when the lights went on again.

Perhaps the time directly after dinner in the drawing-room, before the men joined them, was the worst part of the whole evening. If Charles had invited his aunt and his cousin to Coburn for the sole purpose of making poor Vivien feel uncomfortable (as perhaps he had), they could not have done more to comply with his wishes. It was not so much that they were rude as that they were horribly

patronizing and, while more or less ignoring Audrey altogether, asked Vivien the sort of questions which they might have put to a being from another, and vastly inferior, planet. Poor Vivien was already quite miserable enough. She knew that she had not managed to shine at dinner, nor had there been any opportunity for exchanging comforting little words with Peter, and now that the lights were on, taking a look at herself in the mirror of her powder compact, she saw that she had made her face up atrociously. Audrey also noticed this and came boldly to the rescue by asking Celia to show them the way up to their rooms. Celia gave her a look as if she had been asked to do some impossibly menial task, but finding no possible reason to refuse, led the way out of the drawing-room with a look of injured dignity. "I suppose you don't want me to wait for you," she said, as they reached Vivien's door. "No, thank you," Audrey replied. "I shall know the way down another time, especially with the lights on." They were delighted to be alone together for a few moments; and. Audrey was able to give back to Vivien some of her sadly diminished self-confidence. "Oh, I think those Pendleton women are too horrible for words," Vivien almost cried, "I don't think I can go down again." "Don't take any notice of them," Audrey told her. "They just don't know how to behave, that's all. Dinner's over now and you and Peter can probably slip away somewhere and have a lovely time by yourselves." "But what about you?" "Oh, I shall be all right. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"I thought you were perfectly wonderful at dinner. Are you sure you'll be all right? It would be so lovely to have Peter to myself if only for a few minutes." "Of course I shall be ail right," Audrey assured her, and they, went down to the drawing-room again where the men had now joined them; but the chance of Vivien and Peter slipping away together did not seem to be forthcoming. A card table bad been put out and they were discussing what game they should play. Neither Audrey nor Vivien cared, at all for cards, but they were roped into a game of Hearts because Mrs. Pendleton had to have a game of some sort. She considered it outrageous that neither of them could play bridge. They had to have the game explained to them and Mrs. Pendleton became very impatient because she thought they were so slow in learning the rules. Charles was not playing. He had taken up a book and was sitting a little way off close to the wood fire, but Audrey got the impression that part of his attention at least was on them. If he had been concentrated on his reading he would have been subject to constant interruptions, because Celia kept leaning towards him and addressing some remark to him. It did not take Audrey long to discover that what Celia felt for him was more than a cousinly affection. Women are very quick to discern this kind of thing in another woman, and before the evening was out Audrey knew with certainty that Celia was head over heels in love with Charles. Her attention was called back to the game and, as she played a card, she couldn't help giving a tremendous yawn, and looking up found that Charles's eyes were fixed on her. "Miss Lawrence is evidently tired," he said. "I suggest that after the next hand you all go to bed." Audrey was infinitely thankful to be able to go to bed because she was dead tired, but she felt extremely sorry for Vivien who would not now have a chance of being alone with Peter. "Never mind," she

thought to herself, "she's got plenty of time in the next few days, and she must be tired also." They said good night to Charles in the drawing-room, but Peter accompanied them to the door of Vivien's room where Audrey hurriedly said good night to him and slipped into her own room, thereby giving Vivien the chance of a few words with him alone. She heard the murmur of their voices through the closed door, and then a little while afterwards, when she was on the point of getting into bed, Vivien burst in on her. "He wants me to ride to-morrow," she exclaimed, and there was such a look of dismay on her face that Audrey could hardly keep from laughing. "I told him that I couldn't ride and that I hadn't got any clothes," she went on, "but he says he'll teach me and that Celia will lend me some breeches.... Oh, Audrey, I can't, I can't. I detest horses. I'm terrified of them. Nothing will induce me to ride, I wish we'd never come. I feel perfectly miserable here... Oh, let's go away to-morrow. I can't stand it!" "And allow Charles to triumph?" Audrey asked. "How do you mean?" "Don't you realize what they're doing to you?" "Who? Not Peter?" "No, not Peter. He's as innocent as you are, and as much of a victim. But Charles, and his aunt and cousin. They're in the plot, too. I'm sure they are. They're obviously well-bred, and it isn't natural for well-bred people to be as rude as they are unless they've been put up to it..." Vivien was staring at her in wide-eyed amazement. "Whatever are you talking about?" she asked.

Audrey raised herself on her elbow and looked at her earnestly. "Darling Vivien," she said, "don't you really see what Charles is up to?" Vivien shook her golden head, but she looked very solemn. "If he could have heard what you said just now he would be delighted!" "What did I say just now?" "You said, 'I can't stand it. Let's go away to-morrow.'" "You mean Charles would be pleased if we went away?" "Of course he would be pleased." "Then why did he ask us?" "Because he knew this would happen - he knew you would feel like this - and if he can get you to break off the engagement, he'll get just what he wants without having to do anything himself. Oh, Vivien, can't you see - you must see - Charles doesn't want you to marry Peter, and he's invited you up here in the hope that you'll both realize you're not suited to each other. He wants you to feel you couldn't bear to live up here, and Peter to believe you wouldn't make him a good wife - and he's asked the Pendletons to help him, I'm sure he has. They've done everything this evening they possibly can to make us fed unwanted and uncomfortable." "Why doesn't he want Peter to marry me?" "I don't know. Maybe he really does think you aren't suited to each other. I'm not saying what his motives are. I'm only telling you what his intention is."

Vivien suddenly gripped her hand. "We're not going to let him win, are we?" she said. "I don't know. It all depends on you. Perhaps you also feel you're not really suited to each other." "Oh, but we are, we are! I know we're meant for each other. I know we could be happy together if only they would let us alone. I've never loved Peter as much as I do to-night." The tears suddenly sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Audrey, what am I to do?" "Stick it out," Audrey replied. "Not expect to be happy while you're here but regard this visit as the ordeal by fire through which you have to go before reaching your happiness. Stick it out and take all that comes to you with the best possible grace. Don't give way. Even, if you don't see much of Peter alone, and I don't think they're going to let you, don't complain. If you win through, everything will be all right. Remember, Charles has promised to give his consent if you still want to get married after this visit, and I don't somehow think that, with all his faults, he's a man to go back on his word. Stick it out, Vivien, I'll help you." "Oh, Audrey, you're so good to me. . . . And to think that I was looking forward to this visit and believed that I was going to be welcomed.... What do you advise me to do about riding tomorrow?" "Ride, of course." "But I shall hate it. I shall be terrified!" "How do you know? Have you ever tried?" "No, but..."

"Well, you can't tell till you've tried. You may love it. Anyway, it's something that Peter wants you to do, and he will see that you don't come to any harm. He'll start you on a quiet pony." "He says he wants me to hunt." "Not before you've learnt to ride?" "No, but eventually." "Well, why not? If you're really prepared to live in the country, you must learn to do country things." "It's all very well for you to talk. How would you like to have to ride to-morrow?" "I should hate the idea just like you do - I should be terrified just like you are - but if I loved Peter, I should make myself do it." "But I've never been on a horse." "Nor have I. Not since I was a child anyway, and then I'm not sure that it wasn't a donkey!" "Well, will you ride if I do?" "I don't suppose there's a horse for me." "But if there is?" "I'll do anything to make it easier for you, and if you feel that it does make it easier for you and if there's a horse for me and if Peter approves of the idea, I certainly will." "You're a bride," Vivien declared. Audrey could not understand why, but somehow the fact that she was willing to ride too did seem

to encourage Vivien enormously, and she got up off the bed and kissed Audrey good night in a very different frame of mind from the despairing mood in which she had entered her room ten minutes before. Audrey switched out the light and prepared herself for sleep. She was dead tired and felt that to-morrow could take care of itself, but if she had known that she was really going to be called upon to ride the next morning, she might not have gone to sleep so quickly.

CHAPTER FOUR AUDREY woke early the next morning feeling wonderfully refreshed and, jumping out of bed, she went over to the window to have a look at what lay outside. She was full of curiosity to see the kind of gardens or grounds in which the Castle lay, because the evening before when they had arrived it had been too dark to see anything. She found that her bedroom window looked out on to a stone terrace, and beyond that was a long strip of lawn bisected by a piece of ornamental water, flanked with statues and stone urns. Beyond that again the garden broadened out into a wild-looking park, stretching away as far as the eye could see, "and dotted with some fine trees and grazing cattle. Breakfast was at half-past nine and it was now only eight o'clock, so she decided to get up and explore the house while nobody was about. She had seen so many lovely things the evening before in the drawing-room that she longed to be able to examine them more closely. She did not want to wake Vivien if she were still asleep, so she went to her bath as quietly as possible. When she got downstairs she found that there was still more than half an hour before breakfast. She would rather have liked to go out and see how the Castle looked from the outside, but thought she had better wait for that until after breakfast and content herself with exploring the rooms on the ground floor. She knew her way now and found the drawing-room quite easily. There was nothing about this part of the house which indicated that it was a castle. The room had more a Georgian appearance than anything else, and the furniture was of the same period. A lacquer cabinet at the far end of the room suddenly caught her fancy and she went over to look at it, and in order to see the panels at the sides more clearly knelt down in front of it. She was still in

that position when suddenly she heard a voice just behind her saying, "Have you lost something?" She spun round, scrambling to her feet as she did so, and met Charles's mocking gaze. She felt extremely foolish to have been caught like that and knew that the blood had rushed to her cheeks. How had he came upon her like this without her hearing him? The door was open, certainly, but she would have heard him on the polished floor unless he had walked like a cat. He had no business to walk like a cat. Her confusion gave place to indignation. "You startled me," she said. "I was just looking at the inlay on the sides of the cabinet." "You're interested in furniture in a professional way, are you not?" he asked. "Peter has told me you're connected with the Gloucester Galleries, is that right?" "Yes," she replied, "I'm one of the directors of the company." "Let me set your mind at rest," he said. "There's nothing for sale here." "It never occurred to me for a moment that there would be," she retorted, stung by his words which she considered to have been deliberately insulting. "You probably wouldn't believe it if I told you I'm interested in beautiful things for their own sake." He bowed, but said nothing. "I must remind you," she went on, for she was very angry by this time, "that I was not asked up here in a professional capacity but as a guest - as a friend of Vivien's."

"I stand reproved," he said, but he did not sound in the least sorry; in fact, there was more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I thought you'd come more as her protector than as her friend." "What do you mean by that?" she asked, startled. "You know very well what I mean, Miss Lawrence," he said in a hard voice, looking at her intently with hard eyes. "I don't think I do," she said weakly. "You disappoint me," he replied. "At least I thought you were honest." She did not like that "at least". She ought to have been glad to find that he disliked her as much as she disliked him, but somehow she was not. It seemed most unfair. He had not got the reasons for disliking her that she had got for disliking him. She had done nothing to harm him, whereas he had deliberately tried to harm Vivien who was her friend. "I don't think you can accuse me of dishonesty," she said. "No?" he replied. "Then why do you pretend to be so innocent when I say you've come up here as Vivien's protector?" "I think Vivien needs a friend," she said, and then added very daringly, "in this house." "I'm glad to see you've come out into the open at last," he answered. "We're to be enemies, I'm afraid, Miss Lawrence." "You're not afraid at all; you're glad." "There I think you do me an injustice, but as you're determined to be unjust to me, as you're determined not to see my point of view, it

would be a waste of time trying to justify myself to you - nor, may I say, am I in the habit of justifying myself to people. I've paid you a very great compliment, if you but knew it, in so much as thinking of such a thing." "I can do without your compliments, thank you," she replied with spirit. "I'm quite content to be your enemy." He bowed again. "That suits me very well," he said in the mocking voice that so infuriated her. "But let's call a truce until breakfast time, shall we, and I'll show you some more of the furniture?" "That would be rather risky, wouldn't it?" she asked. "I might cast my professional eye over it and pollute it in some way." "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Miss Lawrence," he replied haughtily. "Are you interested in tapestries?" "Yes," she said simply in her natural voice. "Well, come with me," he said. He led the way out of the drawingroom and through the hall. He opened a door at the other side of the hall which led into a little ante-chamber and passing through this they came out into a vast, vaulted room which she discovered afterwards to be part of the original castle. It had a minstrels' gallery running along the top at one end, and tall, narrow windows. The walls were hung with magnificent tapestries, and there was a great fireplace with a carved overmantel reaching almost to the ceiling on which was emblazoned his coat of arms. Just now a Christmas tree, partly decorated, stood at the far end of the great room under the minstrels' gallery. "We're having a party tomorrow," he told her, "for the tenants and their children. Perhaps some time to-day you and Vivien wouldn't mind helping my cousin finish decorating the tree."

Audrey said that she would be delighted, and they turned their attention to the tapestries, and Charles explained them to her in such a way that she quite forgot her quarrel with him in her pleasure and excitement. It did not take her long to discover that he possessed a profound knowledge of all things artistic, and that he had, moreover, a love, which almost amounted to a passion, for the treasures of his own home. He must have enjoyed showing them to her as much as she enjoyed seeing them, for when the gong went for breakfast, he exclaimed incredulously, "What, half-past nine already!" They had both forgotten their animosity, and only once did he mention the bone of contention between them, and that only indirectly. "I can't bear," he said, "to think of anyone living here after me who won't love it all as I do," and for the first time she got a true inkling into his mind and a clue to his ; real objection to Peter's marriage with Vivien. "Have I done him an injustice?" she asked herself. It was a disturbing' thought, especially as she had to own to herself that all these beautiful things would somehow be wasted on Vivien. When they got to the dining-room they found the others already there. The question of riding was broached again and Audrey was glad to see that Vivien made no further protest. She only said that she would certainly ride if Celia Pendleton would be so kind as to lend her some riding clothes. Strangely enough, it was Charles who made the objection. He wanted to know whether she had ever ridden before and, when she said no, he gave it as his opinion that they had no horse in the stables quiet enough for a beginner. "Oh, Parade will be quiet enough," Peter assured him. "And anyhow, I shan't let her off the leading rein." "Do as you like," Charles said, "but I think it's a great mistake."

"Do you ride?" Celia suddenly asked Audrey. "I haven't been on a horse since I was a child," Audrey replied, "and then, as I was telling Vivien last night, I'm not sure it wasn't a donkey!" "If you care to ride I should be only too pleased to lend you a pair of jodhpurs," Celia said, and Audrey was dumbfounded by this sudden civility, but the next moment she was enlightened as to the cause of it when Celia added, "Or perhaps you would be too frightened?" Audrey took up the challenge immediately. "I should be delighted to ride if you'll realty be so kind as to lend me some riding things," she said. She noticed that Charles frowned so deeply that it was almost a scowl he gave, and afterwards when they were leaving the diningroom he said to her, "I don't think either you or Vivien ought to ride." "Why not?" she asked. "Because our horses are very fresh," he replied, "and they're not suitable for beginners." "Peter will take care of Vivien," she replied. "He wants her to learn to ride, and if she's to live up here, the sooner she begins the better." He frowned again. "And what about you?" he asked. "I've been challenged, Mr. Pendleton," she replied, and walked out of the dining-room with her head in the air.

They were to start riding in a paddock at the back of the stables, through which ran a little stream, crossed by a rustic bridge. The morning had not brightened; there was still a low, leaden sky overhead and it seemed as if rain might fall from it at any moment. And yet there was something exhilarating, almost intoxicating, in the air. On the way to the paddock Audrey noticed, to her surprise, some gulls in the sky and remarked on them to Peter, who replied, "Didn't you know? We're only a mile and a half from the sea here." . "I had no idea." "We'll walk there this afternoon through the gap," he said. They found Celia already in the paddock, but to Audrey's intense relief there was no sign of Charles. She was quite prepared to make a fool of herself, but somehow she did not want to be made to look foolish in front of him. Celia was holding one horse while a groom held the other. Peter took the reins from the groom and helped Vivien to mount and gave her an elementary lesson, telling her how to grip with her knees and how to sit, and how to hold the reins, and then walked beside her holding the horse's head. Audrey, however, received very different treatment. Celia gave her a leg up and then touched the horse's flank sharply with her crop. The animal bucked and threw Audrey ova- its head. She fell heavily, but was up again in an instant and the first thing she saw was that Charles had come into the paddock. He must have seen her fall, but he was not going to see that she had been beaten. The horse had not galloped away but was standing calmly beside her cropping the grass. She seized hold of the reins, and after some difficulty managed to hoist herself on to its back again, but this time it just bolted. She clung to its neck until it jumped the stream and then it tossed her off like a feather, but it was

not as a feather that she fell. As she struck the ground an agonizing pain went through her shoulder, and then, for a few moments, she knew no more. When she came to, she found that Charles was kneeling on the grass beside her. She moved, in an effort to raise herself, but cried out as the pain went through her shoulder again like a knife. "Where are you hurt?" he asked. "My shoulder," she said. "Anywhere else?" "I don't think so." "Thank God for that. It's probably only a dislocation. Look here; I'm going to lift you. I'll try to hurt you as little as I can, but let me know if you have pain anywhere else.... You lift her legs, Peter." He put his hands under her shoulders and lifted her up, and in spite of herself she screamed out in pain. She caught a glimpse of Celia's face hovering close beside them, looking pale and distraught, and she felt very sorry for her. "Did it hurt anywhere else?" Charles asked. "No." "Good. . . . Now rest it like that against my shoulder and you won't feel any more pain. Keep it quite still and it won't hurt." He was right. So long as she did not move it, it did not hurt at all, but the moment she moved it in the slightest degree an agonizing spasm of pain shot through her. They carried her back to the Castle and put her down in a little room leading out of the drawing-room. "Go and ring up Dr. Clarke,"

Charles said to Peter, "but bring some brandy first.... Yes, the telephone's all right again, thank goodness. ... Do you feel faint?" "I do a little." "Put your head down like that - that's right." She was sitting upright in a chair, for she could not he down on account of the pain. Peter came back with a glass of brandy and Charles took it from him and held it to her lips. She raised her head. "Is that better?" he asked. "Yes, thank you." "Good -You've got a little colour back.... The doctor won't be long and he will soon put it right when he gets here. You've dislocated your shoulder, that's all, but it must hurt like hell. It just means that the ball of your shoulder has come out of its socket." She cried out again as another spasm of pain assailed her. "Try not to move it," he said. "I do, but it seems to move by itself." "That's just the muscle trying to jump back by itself. . .. I'll hold it for you. . . . There, it won't hurt now," and he stood beside her and put both hands on her shoulder and held it in place, gently but firmly. His hands on her were a great comfort, and she felt no more pain while he remained like that. "Thank you for being so kind," she said, "but it was all my own fault." "I saw what happened," he replied grimly.

"No, it was all my own fault," she repeated. "You told me not to. I'm sorry to have been such a bore." "I saw you get on again after you'd been thrown," he said. "It was very stupid of me." "I could find a better word for it than that," he said quietly. Just then Vivien came in. "Oh, there you are," she exclaimed. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Darling, how are you? Are you badly hurt?" "Fortunately she's only dislocated her shoulder," Charles answered for her. "How did it happen? Did it bolt? Wasn't Celia holding its head?" Vivien asked eagerly. "Celia was not holding its head," Charles replied sternly. "It was my own fault," Audrey reiterated. "Entirely my own fault." She looked up appealingly into Charles's face. "It was nobody's fault but my own," she said. Charles said nothing, but he compressed his lips. "My trunk has turned up," Vivien announced gleefully. "I've just seen it in the hall." "Good," Charles said. "I sent the car in for it this morning." Audrey thought to herself, "How could I possibly have suspected him of losing her luggage on purpose?" and she almost blushed for shame.

Peter came back into the room. "The doctor will be along as soon as possible," he said. "By the way, Charles, Celia wants to see you." "Then she'll have to wait," Charles replied. Soon afterwards the doctor arrived, and the accident and the cause of it were quickly explained to him. "Is that brandy?" he asked. "Give her some." Charles held the glass out to her, but when he saw how her hand was shaking he put it to her lips himself. "Gently now," the doctor said. "I'm not going to hurt you more than I can help." "Hold on to me as tight as you like," Charles said, and she took him at his word and gripped his band for all she was worth and set her teeth. There was a distinct crack, as of a twig breaking, a stab of excruciating pain which forced from her an involuntary cry, and then the shoulder was back again in its socket. "Well, how does that feel?" Dr. Clarke wanted to know. "Oh, it feels wonderful. I can move it again." "Yes, but you mustn't move it too much. You must keep it in a sling until to-morrow. Fortunately it's your left arm so it won't inconvenience you very much. Has anyone got a big handkerchief?" Charles took a large silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket. "Will this do?" he asked. "Yes, it will do splendidly.... No bones broken, no pain anywhere else? Splendid.... Just get up and see if you can walk all right."

She did as she was told and found that she was able to walk perfectly. She felt a certain stiffness in all her body, but there were certainly no bones broken. "Well, take it easy to-day," the doctor said. "I shouldn't go out again if I were you, and have a lie down this afternoon. ... I'll look in again to-morrow and see how you are." "On Christmas Day?" Audrey exclaimed. "Oh, but you mustn't come on Christmas Day!" "I don't know that I pay much attention to holidays," the doctor replied. "One day seems very much like another to me, Sundays and feast days included. . . . Well, good-bye, everybody," and he took his leave, and Charles followed him out into the hall. Audrey and Vivien went upstairs together to change. "Do you think Celia did it on purpose?" Vivien wanted to know as soon as they were alone. "What do you mean?" "Peter is afraid that she wanted you to fall off." "Why should she?" "Because apparently she's madly jealous." "Jealous of me?" "Yes, because Charles talked so much to you at dinner last night. Peter says he's never seen him talk so much to any one person as he talked to you, and Celia was bitterly resentful of it. You see, she is madly in love with him."

"I had guessed that," Audrey said. "Is there any chance of them getting married?" "Oh, no, Charles will never marry anybody. He's made that quite clear." "Then Celia is rather wasting her time, isn't she?" "She can't help being in love with him, I suppose, but she's reconciled to not marrying him - as long as nobody else has him, that is. . . . You know, I think you were wrong about Mrs. Pendleton being rude to us. Peter has explained her to me. She's always like that, he says. She doesn't care for anything in the world except cards. She's miserable without her bridge, and Peter says she was terribly upset to find that neither of us played, because she doesn't think that she'll get a game while she's here. That was why she was so nasty to us last night, and Celia was nasty because Charles had talked so much to you." Audrey was exceedingly interested in all this. It looked as if she had misjudged Charles in thinking that he had put his aunt and cousin up to being rude to them. She was beginning to feel more than a little shamefaced about all her suspicions. She was well enough to have her lunch in the dining-room and was able to eat with her right hand, but Charles, by whom she was sitting, took her plate from her and cut up her meat as if she had been a child. She was deeply touched by this thoughtfulness of his and by the way he had taken it upon himself to look after her. Celia did not appear at lunch and her place seemed conspicuously empty at the large table. After lunch Charles suggested that Audrey might prefer to lie down on the sofa in the small drawing-room (the room into which they

had carried her after her accident), rather than go up to her bedroom. "I think you'll be more comfortable in there," he said, "and warmer." The moment lunch was finished he took her firmly by the hand and led her into the small drawing-room. "Lie down," he said roughly, indicating the sofa. She obeyed him without a murmur, for there was something about him which did not. brook disobedience. He got a rug out of the hall and covered her up with it, tucking in her feet. "Do you think you'll be warm enough?" he asked. "Oh, yes, I'm beautifully warm." He put some more logs on the fire and blew it into a fine blaze with the bellows. "Do you think I could have a book?" she ventured to ask. "It would do you much more good to sleep," he replied. "But I never sleep in the afternoon." "All right. What sort of a book do you want?" "Anything." He went over to the bookcase and spent a few moments looking at the shelves and then he came back with a volume in his hands which he put down beside her. "Now you stay there till I come back for you, do you see?" he said severely. Directly he had gone she took up the book, which he had chosen for her and saw to her surprise that it was Green Mansions by W. H. Hudson. It seemed to her so immensely out of character that he should have chosen for her this intensely romantic love story about Rima. She had read it two or three times and had come to look upon

it as one of her favourite books, but that Charles should have selected it for her seemed quite extraordinary. She began to glance through the book, searching for her favourite passages, when suddenly there was a tap on the door and Celia came in. Her face was carefully made up, but Audrey could see that she had been crying because there was a certain redness and puffiness round her eyes which the powder could not altogether hide. "I want to say I'm sorry for what I did," she said, but in spite of the words, she spoke defiantly, and Audrey got the impression that if she were really sorry at all it was only because her action had aroused Charles's anger against her, as well as increasing his attentiveness towards herself. "It was my fault," Audrey said. "Mr. Pendleton warned me that the horses were very fresh, but I was obstinate and took no notice. I deserve to have had my neck broken." "You're not badly hurt, are you?" Celia asked. "No, it was only my shoulder, and it's quite all right again now." "Did Charles tuck you up in that rug like that?" Celia demanded. "Yes, he's been very kind. I suppose as I'm a guest in his house he feels some sort of responsibility." "Yes, that's it," Celia said quickly. "That's it exactly. He feels his responsibility as a host very keenly - much more keenly than most people. He would do it for anyone. You needn't think you've been specially favoured." "I don't," Audrey replied, "but I were in any danger of getting a swollen head you'd soon put me right!"

Celia gave her a startled look. She obviously did not quite understand her sarcasm. "Well, I won't disturb you any longer," she said. "You can tell my cousin I've said I'm sorry," and she walked out of the room without another word, leaving Audrey with the distinct impression that she had only come to apologize because Charles had told her that she must. Somehow Celia's insistence that Charles would have done as much for any guest under his roof as he had done for her gave her the feeling for the first time that she had been specially favoured. It seemed absurd that Celia should be jealous of her, and yet it was so and, when Audrey came to think of it, hadn't the other girl perhaps some cause for jealousy? Charles had certainly treated her with more than necessary consideration since her accident… She fell to thinking of him as she looked into the fire, and gradually her eyelids became heavy with sleep. Perhaps it was the brandy she had drunk or perhaps it was the hypnotizing effect of the dancing flames, but for whatever reason it was her eyelids closed of themselves and she began to doze. It was not a deep sleep she was in, but a delicious basking on the shores of sleep, in which she was conscious of the firelight and of a kind of enveloping sweetness which had something to do with Charles. In the half state between waking and sleeping she remembered the feel of his coat -against her cheek as he carried her back to the house, and the strength of his arms, and the warm pressure of his body against hers when she had stumbled up against him in the dark passage the evening before, and the grip of his hand when the doctor had been putting her shoulder back; for she knew now, in this half dream, that it was not only she who had clung to him, but he who had also gripped her hand with his own as hard as he could, almost as if he were actually sharing her pain. She did not remain in this state for long. A log fell off the fire and the noise of it woke her up completely, and she had to get up to put

it back again because it was smoking into the room. She felt now that she had rested long enough and, instead of going to lie down again, began to wander round the room, looking at the pictures and the furniture. There was something about this room which was definitely feminine and which appealed to her strongly. "If I lived here," she thought, "I should make this my sitting-room, and I wouldn't alter a thing about it. It's got everything one could possibly want - even a piano." As she thought this, she crossed over to the piano - a baby grand - and sat down and opened it. It was such years since she had a chance to play, and a great longing suddenly came over her to try it. She put her right hand on the keyboard and began to play the notes without actually sounding them, and then the longing to play became so overwhelming that she could resist it no longer, and she even took her left hand out of the sling and began to improvise playing snatches of things she half remembered and welding them into a medley of her own. Oh, the intoxication of it! Why had she ever given it up? She forgot everything - her surroundings, her bad shoulder, even herself, in the bliss of finding that she could still play. She was abruptly brought back to reality by the slamming of the door. She looked up startled, her hands pausing on the keyboard, to find Charles standing with his back against the door, his eyes fixed on her and a look in them of intense fury. "So," he said. "This is how you rest. This is how you obey the doctor's orders! Didn't the doctor tell you you had to keep that arm in a sling until tomorrow?" he demanded angrily. "Yes, I'm very sorry," she replied, slipping her hand back into the handkerchief.

"It's hopeless," he said. "I'm responsible for you while you're my guest. I don't care what you do when you leave here. You can behave as much like a child as you like then, but while you're under my roof you've got to obey my orders. I don't want to have you ill here." No, of course not, he didn't want to have her ill there; he didn't want to have her laid up at the Castle so that she would not be able to go back to London on Monday; but when she was away from there he didn't care how ill she was. She sank down dejectedly on to the sofa while he busied himself with the fire. There was a silence between them for some moments and then he said in a slightly more gentle voice, "Did you sleep?" "Yes, for about twenty minutes." "And how do you feel?" "Perfectly all right, thank you." "Any pain?" "Only a sort of pain as if I'd been playing tennis." "How do you find that piano?" She was startled by the abruptness of the question. "It's got a wonderful tone," she said. "It's a long time since it has been played on." "Don't you play?" she ventured to ask. "No," and then he added, "at least I don't any more. I used to play a bit."

"Do you mind it being played on?" she asked, suddenly wondering whether she had hit upon the real cause of his anger. "No," he said. "It ought to be played on - but it sounded strange, hearing music coming from this room which has been silent for so many years—" Just at that moment Peter and Vivien burst into the room. They had finished decorating the tree and wanted Charles to come and look at it.

For the rest of the day Audrey felt she was in disgrace and it made her very miserable. Curiously enough, before she had had her accident she would not have minded what Charles thought of her (hadn't she agreed to be enemies with him only that morning and felt perfectly cheerful at the prospect?) - but since her accident some subtle change had taken place in her own feelings. Charles had shown her a consideration, a care, almost a tenderness, which she. had found extremely pleasant, and now his kindness had suddenly been withdrawn and for the rest of the evening he treated her with a marked coldness. It was as if the sun had come out on a bleak day, stayed for an hour or so, warming and cheering, and then suddenly gone in again. On Christmas morning they all went to church where Charles read the lessons, and then came back to an enormous Christmas dinner to which the parson and his wife and several neighbours had been invited so that the table, instead of being too large, was now almost uncomfortably crowded. It was gay with crackers and holly, and by the time the lighted pudding came round the Christmas spirit had thoroughly entered into everybody, even into Audrey, who had not hitherto been feeling at all in a Christmas mood.

She suddenly felt very tired afterwards when they all moved into the drawing-room. As the doctor had predicted, her shoulder was much more painful to-day than it had been the day before, and, moreover, she was now beginning to feel the effects of her fall in other ways. The whole of her left hip was terribly bruised and dreadfully sore now that the bruise had come out. She was just thinking to herself how much she would like to go and lie down before the tenants' party, which was to begin at four, when Charles suddenly came up to her and said in his authoritative way, "You've got to go and have a rest now before the party. You're not yourself again yet. I suggest you lie on the sofa in the small drawing-room as you did yesterday, and stay there till someone comes to fetch you." There was something in his eyes, in the tone of his voice, which brought back to her again the Charles of yesterday and made her heart glad. She went to obey him at once. She had been lying down for only a few moments when the door suddenly opened and her heart leapt. Could it be he? . . . No, it was only the doctor, and she experienced a sharp spasm of disappointment. He did not stay with her long and when he left her she drifted off into a kind of half sleep and experienced the same sweetness that had come to her the afternoon before. This room now seemed to be full of Charles's presence - not the Charles she had known before, but the new Charles whom she had woken up to find kneeling beside her in the paddock after her fall. It was difficult to reconcile the two totally different guises under which he had appeared to her. Which was the true man? ... It was stupid, she knew, but she so longed for him to come to her. In her state of half waking, half sleeping, she was longing for him to come - and somehow expecting that he would come, but it was only Vivien who came in the end to rouse her and tell her that it was time to get ready for the party.

When she and Vivien reached the great hall they found that the guests were already beginning to arrive although it was not yet four. Long trestle tables had been put up for tea and the tree was partially hidden by a screen. She was glad to find that they were able to help and that there was plenty to do. Tea was to be served before the tree was lit and the presents given away, and the children all took their places at the tables, shy and silent and obviously uncomfortable in their best clothes. The children warmed up when it came to pulling crackers, and their unnatural stiffness and silence gave place to a babble of talk and laughter. While their attention was thus diverted, Charles and Peter were busily lighting the candles on the tree, while Audrey, Vivien and Celia helped to clear the tea things away. "This is all such a bore," Audrey heard Celia saying to Vivien, "but Charles makes such a fuss of this old party every year." Audrey was inexpressibly relieved to hear Vivien reply, "I think it's all rather fun." When the tree was ready, everyone was shepherded to the opposite side of the hall, the children being made to sit on the floor, and then the lights were turned out and the screen removed. A gasp of delight went up from the children as the tree was thus revealed to them in all its scintillating beauty, and involuntarily they broke into clapping. Then the lights were turned on and Charles began taking the presents out of a great sack at his side and reading out the names which were written on them. Each child, as his name was called out, got up from the floor and went over to receive his present. Charles shook hands with him and said something to him with a smile, and then he ran back to his place and began eagerly to tear the paper and string off his parcel.

This ceremony took a long time because there were almost fifty children to receive presents and then the grown-ups had to be given theirs. Watching Charles giving away the presents, Audrey could hardly believe that this was the same man she had met at Thelma's party. There was a glow in his face - almost a radiance - which softened its proud lines, and she could see that the children were not in the least afraid of him. She overheard a woman standing next to her whispering to her neighbour, "He chooses all the presents himself, you know.... A message came round two months ago asking what our Garry was interested in, and we told him trains, so you see if he doesn't get a train now." "The work he must have put into it!" Audrey thought to herself incredulously. "This is what Vivien will be expected to do when Peter inherits. It's really the woman's place. I wonder if Vivien realizes all that will be expected of her." She was startled suddenly to hear her own name called out - Miss Lawrence - and she looked round thinking that there must be another Miss Lawrence in the room. But no, her name was repeated again rather impatiently, this time with her Christian name tacked on - "Miss Audrey Lawrence." There could be no mistaking it. Audrey went forward shyly and took the parcel from his hand. As she turned back she heard Vivien's name being called out. "What have you got?" Celia demanded. "I haven't opened it yet." "I can see that, but go on, open it quickly."

Audrey had no wish to satisfy her curiosity and took as long as she could unwrapping it, so that Celia's own name was called out before she had finished. "Look what I've got," Vivien exclaimed in high glee. Her present was a small ivory box, evidently of great age, containing a thimble and a pair of scissors. "Isn't it simply beautiful? What's yours?" Audrey's was an exquisite little vinaigrette with an enamelled top. It would fit easily into a corner of her bag and could be used to hold saccharine or any other kind of tablet She was delighted with it. Celia now came up and opened her own present - a little mannikin carved in ivory with bright green eyes. "Why, it's the green-eyed monster," Vivien exclaimed, without thinking what she was saying. "What do you mean by that?" Celia demanded. "Nothing - only that it's got green eyes and it looks rather like a monster." "Ignorance!" Celia retorted. "It's an Indian god." The presents had now all been distributed and the tea tables had been removed, leaving the great hall clear for games. "Now the worst moment comes," Celia whispered. "We shall all be expected to play the most awful games." There was a record player in the room, which was in Peter's charge, and they started by playing Musical Chairs, then Oranges and Lemons. "What do you want to play next, children?" Charles asked. "Nuts in May, Nuts in May!" came back the overwhelming response.

"I was afraid of that and we haven't got a record of it.... Audrey, do you think you could possibly play it for us?" "Oh, yes, of course; I'll certainly play it," she said. "But where's the piano?" "It's up in the gallery. . . . Celia, show Audrey how to get up to the gallery." "All right," Celia said grudgingly. "It's this way." Audrey followed her. They went out of a door just beneath the gallery which led to a spiral staircase, and at the top of this they came out into the gallery itself. "Charles expects everyone to work themselves to the bone for this silly old party of his," Celia said. "You needn't feel you'll earn any special gratitude from him by playing the piano like this." "I don't expect to," Audrey replied. "I'm only too glad to do it. I'm enjoying the party enormously." Celia whisked away, and Audrey sat down at the piano. It was placed close to the balustrade of the gallery so that she could look over and see the game going on down below, and know when to stop for the tugs of war. This turned out to be the last game of the evening, and when it was over Charles called up to her, "That will be all, thank you, Audrey," and Audrey shut the piano and came down into the hall again for the final ceremony of leave-taking. Somebody got up and said, "Three cheers for Mr. Pendleton and Mr. Peter," and three of the loudest cheers that Audrey had ever heard were given, and then everyone sang "For he's a jolly good fellow", which always made her want to cry.

"Thank you," Charles said when it was over. "I hope you've enjoyed yourselves as much as we've enjoyed having you, and we look forward to seeing you all gathered here together next year. . . . But before you go home I've got something to tell you. . . . My brother here ... ." and he. motioned Peter to come to him. "Many of you have known him since he was in his pram.... Well..." He broke off and beckoned to Vivien, who went to him looking very surprised. "Well, I want you to know that he's going to be married to this young lady, Miss Vivien Maybridge." Peter grasped Vivien's hand, and never had Audrey seen two people look more surprised and happy. Vivien, moreover, looked so lovely in her happiness that Audrey did not see how she could fail to win every heart there. "Now I'm sure," Charles went on, "you would like to join with me in three cheers for Peter and Vivien." The cheers that followed were so terrific that Audrey had to put her hands over her ears, for she thought her eardrums would be broken!

Later, when they were alone together for a moment, Audrey asked Vivien, "Did you know he was going to do it?" . "No. Nor did Peter. It came as a, complete surprise to us both.... Oh, wasn't it wonderful of him? I'm so happy I don't know what to do." They sat down to a small table that night at dinner, and as they took their places Charles exclaimed, "Thank goodness, the festivities are over and we can go back to a proper sized table," and Audrey's last suspicion of him was dispelled. To think that she had ever seriously suspected him of adding two leaves to the able in order to embarrass Vivien! Whatever else he was or wasn't, she knew now that at least he was not a petty man who would stoop to petty means to get his

own way. She could not help wondering whether it had always been his intention to announce the engagement at the Christmas party or whether he had done it on a sudden impulse, or after having watched Vivien carefully for two days. She would have given anything to know. For her own part she was just a little chagrined that he had not said a special word of thanks to her for playing the piano at the party. Probably what Celia had said was true: he expected everyone to work their hardest to make the party a success, and might have reproved them for not doing so, but was not prepared to thank them for doing their best. For one moment at the party he had seemed so close and human and understandable, but now he was as distant as ever again - almost as far away as when she had first met him in Thelma's house. Not even over the engagement did he show any excitement after the one moment of its announcement. At dinner he drank their health in champagne, but he did it seriously, as if it were a duty, and seemed to regard the unconcealed happiness and triumph of the young people with a certain contempt. There was a look on his face at one moment which she felt she might almost interpret. It seemed to say, "Well, it's all right for you, I suppose, but thank God it isn't me." After dinner he excused himself on the plea of having work to do and they did not see him again that evening.

CHAPTER FIVE THE next day, Boxing Day, Audrey was left very much to her own devices because Vivien and Peter naturally went off by themselves, and she would not have taken advantage of Celia's company even if it had been available; but as a matter of fact Celia elected to stay in bed all the morning, and Mrs. Pendleton never appeared before lunch anyway. As for Charles, he was not even there for breakfast. Peter said that he had got up early and had gone to see about some business on the estate, and that it was doubtful whether he Would be back all day. "But surely to-day's a holiday," Vivien said. "Not for Charles. He never takes a holiday if he can help it." "Well, he's not going to make you work to-day, anyway," Vivien replied, smiling up at him. Audrey could not help feeling disappointed. Not to see Charles all day was going to make the day seem very long, though she was indignant with herself for thinking so. In the morning she spent some time reading and then she went out and wandered round the garden. As she walked slowly, with head bent, her thoughts were on Charles and she asked herself what it was that she really and truly thought of him. "Why does he intrigue me so?" she said to herself. She had had to deal with many different kinds of people in the course of her work, so surely it couldn't be very difficult to sum him up; but the more she tried the more some vital clue to his character eluded her. "Why does he hate women so?" she asked herself. "Why doesn't he want to get married? One would have thought that a wife would have been invaluable to him in all he has to do - in helping with that party yesterday, for

instance, and buying the presents. I can't understand it. What's the mystery behind it all?" Ever since the engagement had been announced, Celia had been courtesy itself to Vivien. She obviously felt that if Charles had given his approval it would be well for her to do the same; but towards Audrey her former attitude of hostility had not changed, though they had hardly spoken to each other since their passage of words up in the minstrels' gallery yesterday. Celia was always very careful not to be rude to her in front of Charles or in front of Peter, and as Vivien and Peter were always together, not even Vivien knew what Audrey had suffered from her jealous insolence. The next day, Saturday, looked as if it were going to be a repetition of the day before, but in the afternoon Audrey determined to find her way to the sea by herself. She was not going to leave Northumberland without having caught a glimpse of this coast which was only a mile and a half away. She set out soon after lunch, therefore, not even knowing in which direction the sea lay. She could easily have asked Peter, but she did not want either him or Vivien to feel guilty about leaving her alone. Vivien had said to her two or three times, "Are you sure you're not too bored here? I feel so bad about leaving you so much to yourself," and she had replied firmly each time, "I can't tell you how I'm enjoying the rest. You don't know what it means to me to have absolutely nothing to do." And in fact Vivien did not know. She could not guess from the way Audrey said these words that to have absolutely nothing to do was her idea of torture. She was a very active person and would never have been at a loss for something to do if she had been in her own home, but this enforced inactivity in somebody else's house was terribly irksome to her. It was not that she was bored so much as that she was restless. She would have been perfectly happy if she could have had the complete run of the house, but, as it was, she did not like venturing beyond the drawing room and her own bedroom. Only that morning she had found her way into the library and had

been entranced at the idea that she might be allowed to spend the whole morning in there gloating over the books, but Celia had discovered her there and had driven her away by saying in a scandalized tone, "Whatever are you doing in here? Don't you know my cousin doesn't allow anyone in the library?" "Then why doesn't he keep it locked?" Audrey retorted. "I don't suppose he expects his guests to go wandering about all over the place." Audrey felt that by this time Celia's anger against her ought to have cooled down a bit, because since the party on Christmas afternoon, Charles had shown her no attention whatsoever, but it did not seem as if Celia had forgiven her, for, whenever they met alone, she always had something sarcastic or unpleasant to say ... . So this afternoon she was quite pleased to get away by herself and set out to find the sea with nothing to guide her but an instinctive sense of direction. It was another of those dull, leaden days which she had already come to associate with Northumberland. The sky was so low that she felt she might reach up and touch it, and there was a wind blowing which almost lifted her along. She felt tremendously exhilarated. There was something special about the air here something different from the air of any other country she had ever known. "I wonder what Vivien really feels about living up here, for the rest of her life," she thought. "At the moment she's so much in love that she's quite blinded by it. I don't suppose she's even looked at the country. Although Peter has taken her about so much on pretext of showing her some ruin or other or some beauty spot, I don't believe either of them have seen anything except each other." She was walking now by the side of the paddock in which she had had her fall, because something told her that the sea lay in that direction. Peter had mentioned something about a "gap", and seeing a wood ahead of her with, a broad path running through it, she

imagined that this might perhaps be the "gap" to which he had referred. She was just about to enter the wood when suddenly Charles, walking with another man, emerged from it so close to her that there was no possible chance of avoiding him. "Good afternoon," he said, "and what are you doing here? . . . May I introduce Mr. Morton . . . Miss Lawrence." Audrey smiled at the other man whom she had seen at the party on Christmas afternoon, though not to speak to, and whom she knew to be Charles's bailiff, and then she answered his question. "I'm trying to find my way to the sea." "Then I'm afraid you're going to have some difficulty, because you're walking in exactly the wrong direction. If you walked far enough you might get to Newcastle this way, but you would never get to the sea." "Then perhaps you could just point out to me the right way," she said. "Peter said something about a gap. I'm trying to find the gap." Charles hesitated for a moment and then he said abruptly, "I'll go with you. ... All right, Morton," he added, "that matter can wait till Monday. We'll settle it then. There's no great urgency." "Oh, please don't let me take up your time," Audrey exclaimed. "I can easily find it for myself. If you could just..." "Perhaps I could show Miss Lawrence the way," Morton interrupted. He had been looking at Audrey with undisguised admiration - a look which she could not help noticing, and which was pleasant to her, coming as it did from a man who though not in his first youth was undeniably good-looking.

"That's all right, Morton," Charles said firmly. "I'll see you first thing on Monday. . . . This is the way," he added to Audrey. "It's quicker if you start from the Castle itself, but we can cut through here." She bowed to Morton again and turned to walk with Charles, conscious that the agent's eyes were following than. "I felt I must just see the sea before I left," she said for the sake of something to say. "I thought Peter had shown it to you," he replied with a frown. "I'm afraid you have been very neglected while you've been here." "Not at all. It's been a complete change, and such a rest" "I'm afraid I haven't the time to entertain my guests myself," he said. "There's a lot to do on the farm." "I'm sorry if I'm taking up your time now. If you would just show me where the gap is.. ." "I've got to go down there anyway some time," he replied rather ungraciously. "There's a cottage there I want to have a look at." "You do a lot on the estate as well as farming?" Audrey began. "Naturally," he replied. "I thought Peter managed the estate." "Peter manage the estate!" There was so much scorn in his voice that she looked up into his face in some surprise, and saw that his brows were drawn together and that there was something particularly fierce at that moment in his proud profile. "Peter is learning to manage the estate," he went on, "but as yet he knows

nothing about it - absolutely nothing. Eventually he will take Morton's place, but not for a very long time if he doesn't get down to serious work soon." "It's difficult for him to have his mind on his work at the moment," Audrey said softly. Charles uttered a sound of contempt. "Well, perhaps he'll be better now he's engaged," he said. "Being engaged is a restless time," she said. "It will be better when once they're married." "Married?" he reiterated. "And where are they going to live when they are married?" "I understood from Peter that they were going to build a house on the estate!" "Yes, but how long will that take? And in the meantime?" "Then you believe in long engagements?" "Yes, the longer the engagement the more time there is to think better of it." She felt anger - almost fury - against him rising up in her. How she hated him when he was like this! "Then why did you give your consent to their marriage if you feel like that about it?" she asked indignantly. "Young people will always be fools," he replied. "There's no stopping them. They have no conception of what marriage really is of all it entails.... And perhaps it's just as well," he added, "or no one would ever get married and the world would come to an end."

"You seem to think that marriages must inevitably be unhappy," she said. "I think it's madness to run into marriage blinded with love," he retorted. "Love does sometimes last," she said acidly. "Does it?" he answered. She was too angry to pursue the subject with him, and said instead, "Then you expect Peter and Vivien to wait to get married until they've had a house built?" "I expect nothing," he replied, and there was so much bitterness in his voice, such weariness, such complete cynicism that she was taken aback and for the moment could think of nothing to say in reply. "I expect nothing of anybody," he went on after a moment's silence. "If they insist on getting married - if they're fools enough to get married - they're welcome to live in the Castle till such time as they can build themselves a house." "I still can't understand why you gave your consent yesterday," she said in a puzzled tone. "Why you were so nice about it" "I expect my better nature got the better of me," he replied sarcastically. "I don't think you've got a better nature," she retorted. The words came out before she could stop them, but afterwards she would have given anything to have them unsaid. He laughed - not a pleasant laugh. "I'm glad to see," he said, "or rather to hear, that you're quite yourself again - quite recovered from

your fall. I know you haven't been yourself for the past two days, as you've failed to be rude to me." "I'm sorry," she said; "I didn't mean to be rude." "Oh, please don't be sorry. I prefer it. I like people to be themselves. I detest hypocrisy." "I'm not myself when I'm with you," she replied with spirit. "I didn't realize that I had a temper until I met you." He laughed again - his mocking, cynical laugh. "Why have you such a bad opinion of human nature?" she demanded suddenly. "I have a sense of reality," he replied quickly, "and a very clear vision.... This is the gap you were looking for." "I should never have found it," she said, looking round in wonder. They had just entered a narrow, deep valley between almost perpendicular rocks - a sort of gorge - and now the path narrowed so that it was impossible for them to walk two abreast, and he went on in front. As they could not talk any longer Audrey had the opportunity of looking about her with interest. Far below them, at the bottom of the gorge, a fierce little stream was running, frothing over stones and tumbling into waterfalls. The rocky sides of the gorge were checkered with moss and lichen, and above it was almost roofed over with overhanging trees. Altogether it was an awe-inspiring place with a strange beauty of its own and a ghostly atmosphere. Somehow she would not have liked to be walking alone there by herself, and even as it was she kept glancing back over her shoulder to make sure that no one was following her. One false step to the left and there was nothing to stop you from plunging into the ravine below. She shuddered as she looked down. She would not

have been at all surprised to learn that a murder had been committed here - perhaps by a Black Charles of former days. It would be so easy to push someone over. She shuddered again. As they walked along she looked at Charles's tall figure in front of her and at his coal black hair. How well he fitted into this place. How much a part of it he seemed to be. How easy it was to imagine him stalking in front of her dressed in top boots and a highwayman's cloak, with a brace of pistols in his holster. Somehow he did not fit into the twentieth century at all. He was too proud, too aristocratic, too aloof, to belong to the machine age. As a cavalier or as a feudal nobleman she could see him well. She could see him on horseback or in a stage-coach, but not in a bus or a tube. She was desperately sorry that her tongue had run away with her and that she had allowed herself to be rude to him, but he did have that effect of rousing in her an anger which she had never thought herself capable of. Why was he so against marriage? What was the mystery that lay behind it? Could it be that he had been crossed in love? No, she dismissed that idea the moment it came to her. She felt that that was the one explanation that could not hold water. It was impossible - quite impossible - to imagine him being crossed in love or let down by a woman. "Why do I know this so certainly?" she asked herself, and in the answer which came to her she was brought up with a jolt against the hard truth of her own feelings. "Because if he put himself out to woo her, no woman could resist him, and once having loved him, no woman could ever get over it because every other man in comparison would seem so dull - so deadly dull." They came out of the ravine quite suddenly and Audrey found herself on a wild shore with the seagulls wheeling and screeching madly overhead and the sea almost indistinguishable from the sky except for the angry flecks of foam. The wind caught her and almost drove the breath out of her body.

Charles pointed to a black sped: in the distance and shouted, "That's the cottage I've got to go and have a look at." He had to shout to make himself heard above the wind. She turned and walked beside him, trudging over the sand. The wind was against them and it was a real physical effort to push against it. Conversation was impossible because they would have to have shouted to make themselves heard, so they fought their way along in silence, but to Audrey that walk seemed full of a strange kind of magic. They readied the cottage at last - a derelict, tumble-down building that could never, even in its heyday, have been much more than a shack. The door was open and they went in, and were assailed with a sudden blessed silence after the roar of the wind. It was a fourroomed cottage with two rooms on the ground floor and two above, but there was no bathroom or other amenities of any kind. "Do you think it could ever be made habitable?" Charles asked her as they tramped over the bare stone floors. "I suppose it has been lived in?" she asked doubtfully. "Oh yes." "It seems so terribly exposed." "You wouldn't fancy living here yourself?" "Would you?" she asked. "Oh, I shouldn't mind. I lived in a lighthouse once for nearly a year. This is civilization itself compared to that." "Why did you do that?" she asked, full of a genuine curiosity. "For the solitude," he replied cryptically.

"Didn't you have anyone with you ?" "Yes, I had my dog ... We were very happy," and he gave a little laugh. She wrinkled her brow in perplexity. What a strange man he was! He had everything in the world he could possibly want and yet he went and shut himself up in a lighthouse with nothing but a dog for companion. "You don't understand that?" he asked. "You don't understand the need for solitude?" "Not to that extent," she replied. "I often want to be alone. I often feel I must get away by myself for ten minutes, but not for a year!" He gave that odd little laugh again and quite suddenly for no reason she felt frightened. "I think I shall come here a good deal," he said all at once in a low voice. "When Peter is married, I think I shall need to come here." "Surely the Castle is big enough so that they won't be in your way?" Audrey said. "The world itself can be too small," he replied. "Sometimes a man has to get away by himself.... Well, I've seen all I want to see. We'd, better be going." They went back the way they had come, and what with the wind on the beach and having to walk single file in the gap, there was no chance of conversation. As they emerged from the gap, however, be fell into step beside her and said, "So you're going to-morrow?" "Yes," she replied, "we've got the sleepers for to-morrow night. I have to be at work on Monday morning."

"You'll never want to come back to Northumberland again," he said. It was neither quite a question nor a statement but something in between the two. "Why do you say that?" she asked quickly. "I can't see why you should ever want to come back," he replied. What did he mean? She was greatly puzzled. "I shall want to see Vivien," she said. "You'll see Vivien in London," he replied. "I don't suppose she'll be here very much." "But this will be her home!" "Do you think she's really going to like living up here?" "Yes, I'm sure she is." "You may be right," he said dryly. "It remains to be seen.... But you won't want to come here again," he added in the same tone as he had said the words before - half as a statement and half as a question. "Why do you say that so surely?" "Do you like this country?" he asked. "Yes, I think it has enormous fascination. It's strange and wild and yet it fascinates me." "Don't come back," he said. "Don't ever come back." "Why not?" she asked in surprise. He was so long in answering the question that she thought he had not heard it, and was just about to repeat it when he said, "It may get a hold on you. You may find that

you will never be able to leave it.... Ah, here we are. I hope I haven't made you late for tea." They had reached the Castle and he opened the front door for her and she passed into the hall in front of him.

They left the following evening and she had no more chance of any conversation alone with Charles. Celia on this last day was more civil than she had been the whole time - perhaps because, as it was a Sunday, Charles was with them most of the day and she would not have dared to be anything but civil in front of him, or perhaps because now Audrey was going she had ceased to fear her as a rival and was ashamed of the way she had behaved. She even went so far as to express a hope that they would meet again one day in London. "We shall all meet at the wedding anyway," Mrs. Pendleton said. "When is it to be, Peter?" Peter looked at Vivien. "When is it to be, darling?" he asked her. "I shall have to talk it over with Mummy," Vivien replied to Mrs. Pendleton, "but we want it to be as soon as possible. Some time in February, we hope." Peter went with them into Newcastle to see them safely into their sleepers. Vivien was not sad at parting because she knew it would not be for long and that then she was going to have him for ever. She was living in a kind of ecstatic dream and seemed almost unaware of anything going on outside the magic circle of their love. She was anxious in fact to get back to London in order to discuss the details of the wedding with her mother. The sooner she got back, the sooner the wedding could take place. She was also looking forward to writing love letters to him and to receiving his letters in return. They had promised to write to each other every day.

And so, in a way, it was Audrey who minded leaving more than Vivien. Her visit had had its unpleasant moments and yet as a whole there had been something tremendously exciting about it. She could not quite put her finger on the reason for this excitement, but she knew that it had something to do with Charles and that in saying good-bye to him something strange and sweet would be going out of her life. She slept only fitfully on the train, and every time she woke she was conscious of a curious sort of sadness - an aching sense of loss.

CHAPTER SIX AUDREY had only been back in London for a few days and was only just beginning to get into the swing of her work again when her telephone rang one morning early before she had started out and Vivien came on the line with an urgent request for her to come to Verne Street as soon as she could to discuss the details of the wedding. "You've got to be bridesmaid," she said. "Oh, no," Audrey protested. "Oh, but you must. You've got to be." "Well, we'll talk about it when I see you," Audrey said. She did not want to argue about it then because she was in a hurry, but she agreed to lunch at Verne Street that day. "Come at one," Vivien said, "and then we'll have plenty of time to talk, as I suppose you will want to rush back to your silly old business directly afterwards." Audrey got there punctually at one to find Thelma alone in the little green sitting-room on the ground floor. "I'm afraid I've come too early," she said. "Not a bit of it. I'm so glad to have a chance to talk to you alone before Vivien comes in. She's getting her hair done or something -My dear, it was sweet of you to write to me. I should have answered it, but..." "You weren't meant to," Audrey said. "I just felt I wanted to let you know how things were going." "And everything's all right? I never thought it would be, I must say. Do you think we've misjudged Charles? Tell me what your real opinion of him is now that you've seen more of him."

"He's quite different in his own home from what he was here," Audrey replied at once. "At the Christmas party for the tenants, for instance, it was almost impossible to believe he was the same man. He's obviously a very good landlord, and all the people round about there seem to adore him. I overheard two women at the party talking about him and they almost brought tears to one's eyes." She was not aware of the warmth and enthusiasm which had crept into her voice while she was speaking, but Thelma had noticed it and said immediately, "You haven't fallen for him, my dear, have you?" "Of course not," Audrey protested indignantly, but in spite of herself she felt the blood rushing to her cheeks and knew that Thelma was looking at her closely. At that moment Vivien, looking lovelier than ever, burst into the room, and presently Henry Maybridge joined them and they all went in to lunch. During the meal they talked of nothing but the wedding. The day was fixed for February the eighteenth, and it was apparently going to be a slap-up affair at St. George's, Hanover Square. "You and Celia are going to be the only grown-up bridesmaids," Vivien informed her; "the rest are going to be children. Fortunately you and Celia are more or less the same height..." There was something about this idea of Celia and herself walking down the aisle together which tickled Audrey's fancy. How pleased Celia would be! The question of the bridesmaids' dresses was now discussed and also the question of Vivien's wedding dress, and Audrey realized that unless something could be done about it the dresses were going to be too hideous for words. Thelma had no taste and Vivien was

guided entirely by her mother. The wedding dress itself would probably be all right, but Thelma wanted the bridesmaids to be dressed in emerald green (green was her favourite colour), with headdresses of red leaves. "I know the most wonderful little dressmaker," Audrey said. "It would be much cheaper than going to one of the big houses." "That might be a good idea," Thelma answered doubtfully, "but I don't know whether Mrs. Pendleton would like it.... I haven't told you, have I, that I had a charming letter from her? She'll be in London next week and she wants to come and call on me with her daughter." "Don't worry about her, Mummy," Vivien put in. "The cheaper it is the better she'll be pleased. She doesn't like spending money at all, so Peter told me, although they're quite well off.... Mummy won't like Celia, will she, Audrey?" "I don't know," Audrey replied. "She can be very nice if she tries." "She was perfectly beastly to poor Audrey," Vivien explained. "She was frantically jealous of her. You see, she's madly in love with Charles...." "Then Charles did pay attention to. Audrey?" Thelma exclaimed with interest. "No, he didn't," Audrey said quickly. "Yes, he did," Vivien contradicted her. "I must say I wouldn't have noticed it myself, but Peter was very struck by it. He said that he'd never seen Charles take so much notice of any girl, and that he asked him to tell him all about her. He had asked about her before that time he met her at our party and thought she'd been so rude to

him - but now he wanted Peter to tell him about her all over again...." "Nonsense," Audrey said. "You're making it all up." But to her consternation she found herself blushing again. "I'm not," Vivien said. "Cross my heart. Peter asked me a lot about you so that he could pass it all on to Charles." "What did he ask?" Audrey could not resist wanting to know. "He asked how long I'd known you and where we had met and what sort of job you had and whether you were engaged to anybody or had ever had any love affairs." "What cheek!" Audrey exclaimed. "What did you say?" "You mean about being engaged and having love affairs? I said that I believed you'd once been engaged hut that you never talked about it." Audrey bit her lip, and Thelma, noticing her embarrassment, said quickly, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Vivien, discussing Audrey's private affairs like this." "But she's much too reticent," Vivien replied. "Things have to be forced out of her. She never makes a confidence - even to me." Audrey laughed good-naturedly. She realized that Vivien had had no intention of being unkind. She could not possibly know that she had got her on the raw. She always laughed at herself in front of people, so it was no wonder that they didn't realize how badly she had been hurt. But all the same it was gross impertinence on Charles's part to ask such questions about her.

Although she said this to herself and tried to work up indignation against him, in her heart she was pleased - terribly pleased - but she would not have owned it for the world.

Audrey was pleased to find that in the following weeks Vivien and Thelma consulted her more and more about the trousseau and the actual wedding. The wedding reception, it had been decided, was to be held at Claridge's because Verne Street was too far away from the church. Audrey helped to choose Vivien's dress and got her own way about the bridesmaids' dresses and the little pages' suits. Vivien's dress was to be of cream satin with a Brussels lace veil and a wreath of orange blossom, and the bridesmaids were to wear cream chiffon with wreaths of copper-coloured rosebuds and long sashes to match, and to carry bouquets of the same copper- coloured roses. Vivien needed a good deal of guidance in the choice of her trousseau because her inclination for frilly clothes, completely unsuitable for Northumberland, kept trying to run away with her, and Audrey had to hold her to the straight and narrow path of trousers and sheepskin jackets. She realized in those days how utterly selfish people are when they are supremely happy, and yet how difficult it is to bear any resentment against them for their selfishness. Vivien was entirely wrapped up in her happy love - she had no other interest - and evidently imagined that everyone else was just as absorbed in it as she was. She seemed unable to understand that Audrey should sometimes be too busy to go shopping with her or too tired to show interest in some small, boring detail to do with the wedding reception. . . .'But Audrey, though she was often very busy and very tired, always felt indulgent towards Vivien. "She'll probably never again be quite as happy as this in her life," she told herself. "Let her

be happy while she can, bless her. Everyone has to have one moment in their lives when they're the centre of the stage" - and then she added ruefully to herself, "I wonder whether my own moment will ever come." She was not present when Mrs. Pendleton and Celia went to call on Thelma, which they did as soon as they got to London, but she heard all about it afterwards from Vivien. Apparently the visit had gone off very well, and both Celia and her mother had made an effort to please. "Mrs. Pendleton - by the way, she has asked me to call her Aunt Dorothy, but I can't somehow get used to it," Vivien said "was quite different from what she was at Coburn - much, much nicer. We're all dining with them next week. . . . Oh, dear, I'm so glad everybody is being so nice. It worried me so much when I thought Celia didn't like me." "It wasn't you, it was me she didn't like," Audrey said. "Did you tell her that we were going to walk together as bridesmaids?" "Well, I didn't as a matter of fact, I didn't see that there was any need to. But I gave her the name of your dressmaker and she's going to get in touch with her so that all the dresses will be made alike, ... I didn't actually tell her that it was your dressmaker either because I was afraid it might prejudice her...." Audrey laughed. "You were quite right," she said. "You don't want to have any fuss before the actual day - and afterwards it won't matter!" On the two occasions when she went to her dressmaker to be fitted for her bridesmaid's dress she was a little fearful that she might meet Celia there, but she never did, and it was not till the day before the wedding, at the rehearsal at St. George's, that she saw her again.

She had been looking forward to the wedding because she knew that it would mean seeing Charles again, and in spite of anything she might tell herself she did dreadfully want to see him again, and a week before the day she began to get almost unpleasantly excited at the prospect; but somehow she had never imagined that she would meet him at the rehearsal, and yet there he was, the first person she saw when she got to the church. She arrived rather late and his back was towards her, but she recognized him instantly and her heart turned right over like a fish on the end of a hook, and then began to beat rapidly while the blood rushed to her cheeks. "Oh, there you are," Vivien exclaimed, rushing up to her. "You are late. We thought you were never coming." "I'm sorry, but I got held up." "Let's start. Now you walk at the back with Celia...." Audrey smiled at Celia and said, "How do you do?" and was surprised that Celia smiled back at her and said quite pleasantly, "So we're to walk together." The other bridal attendants consisted of three little boys and three little girls who were now being marshalled into their respective places. They all began to walk up the aisle, she and Celia bringing up the rear of the procession. She had not dared to look at Charles, but felt that his eyes were boring into her back. "You're going much too quickly," Thelma said, "and for goodness' sake hold yourself better, Vivien darling. Hold your head up. . . . Try it again. . . . Mr. Pendleton, will you please take the place of her father and let her walk up on your arm. He promised to be here this afternoon, but he must have forgotten all about it."

Charles complied, albeit reluctantly, and Thelma with her strong histrionic sense began to rehearse them as if they had been a pageant instead of an ordinary bridal retinue. They had to walk up four times before they did it in any way to her liking, and Audrey noticed on Charles's face that same expression of boredom and contempt which it had worn at the cocktail party where she had first met him. She herself was also bored and was wondering how she could make her escape without offending Vivien, when Thelma at last released them with, "Well, I suppose that will have to do, but do remember tomorrow all that I have told you." Audrey went over to Vivien and kissed her hurriedly. "I must fly," she said. "See you to-morrow." She said good-bye to Thelma too and was just turning to go when she came face to face with Charles. "Aren't you even going to say how do you do to me?" he asked. "Of course - how do you do - and good-bye, I'm afraid, because I must run. I'm awfully late." "You're lucky to be busy," he said. "I can never find anything to do in London. I must confess I detest the place. I feel like a fish out of water.... Peter will be deserting me to-night, so I suppose you wouldn't take pity on me and have some dinner with me somewhere?" "I'm terribly sorry," she was forced to answer, "but I've got to go out tonight. I'm dining with some friends." Oh, if only she had not been dining out that evening, with what alacrity she would have accepted his invitation. She longed to be able to say, "Do come along, too. There will be a party of us and one extra won't make any difference," but she would never have dared to take him along on a party; she would be much too frightened of that look of weary disgust coming over his face in the middle of it.

He bowed slightly but said nothing and she added hurriedly, "Perhaps another time," rather hoping that he would ask her for tomorrow night, but he replied, "I trust there will never be another time - that I shall never have occasion to come to London again." "You're going back to-morrow?" she asked. "Yes, by the five o'clock." Just then Celia came up to them. "You are coming to us this evening, aren't you, Charles?" she asked him. He nodded and Audrey could not help wondering what he would have said if she had agreed to go out with him. Would he have told Celia that he was taking her out, and if so what on earth would Celia have done? A bottle of vitriol in the face was what she might have expected. . . . From the way Celia had said, "You are coming to us this evening, aren't you?" it looked as if he had already accepted, or at least tentatively accepted, their invitation, so in asking herself to dine with him he was showing a very obvious preference for her company over Celia's. If she had dined with him and spent the whole evening with him what would have come of it? If nothing else, surely she would have got to know him better? She felt a profound dissatisfaction in her own party, and was not comforted by the thought of Charles being with Celia. "What on earth is the matter with me?" she asked herself, and frowned at the obvious answer which occurred to her. "No, no, I mustn't let that happen, I won't. It's too absurd. He could never come to care for me. Besides, he hates all women." But, in spite of herself, when she got into bed that night and thought again of his invitation to her, a warm feeling of sweet excitement surged through her and she could not help longing for to-morrow when she would see him again at the wedding.

Vivien was not to have a fine day. It was pouring with rain in the morning and the weather forecast promised no improvement, but nothing could damp Vivien's ecstatic, radiant happiness. It didn't trouble her that the rain might be horribly inconvenient for her guests - it didn't even occur to her. By the time she and Thelma started out for the church, Audrey was trembling as much from excitement as from cold. When they got to the church they could hardly get in at the door for the crowds outside, and the church itself was packed. The organ was playing, and the whole congregation was fluttering and whispering like martins in the eaves, and then Vivien suddenly appeared and there were exclamations of, "There she is - there's the bride," and a sudden hush fell and the bridesmaids and pages, so well rehearsed yesterday, took their places. The organ broke into the Bridal March and the congregation rose like a wave, and Vivien, on her father's arm, with the long lace veil covering her lovely face, started slowly up the aisle to claim her waiting bridegroom. Audrey had to bite her Up to keep back the tears. The bride's attendants had to stand all the way through the ceremony, and over the heads of the kneeling congregation Audrey watched Charles's stern, dark face as he stood beside his brother, and she wondered what he was thinking about. No doubt he was thanking his lucky stars that he was not in Peter's place, and yet could he listen to the beauty of the marriage service quite unmoved? She wondered also whether Vivien was taking in the significance of all she was promising. How inviolable were those vows ". . . For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health." It covered the whole of life. There were no circumstances in which you might feel yourself justified in going back on them. Yes, you

were bound - bound hand and foot - and yet how lightly people entered into this formidable contract. Thus her thoughts ran while the ceremony was in progress, and all the time she scarcely took her eyes off Charles's face. Once he looked in her direction and caught her eye and she looked away quickly, but he didn't look again and she was able to watch him unobserved. She had never seen a face quite like his before - so aloof, so proud, and yet, in a way, so beautiful - a face which would never pass unnoticed in a crowd, a face which might be hated or loved but could never be ignored.

Peter and Vivien had been declared man and wife, the officiating clergyman had made his address, and now the Whole bridal retinue moved into the vestry for the signing of the register where they were joined by Thelma and Henry May- bridge and Mrs. Pendleton. Vivien had thrown back her veil and was kissing everyone when Thelma suddenly declared, "It's the best man's place to kiss the bridesmaids, isn't it?" Whether she said this out of a general exuberance of spirits, or whether she deliberately wished to embarrass Charles, it is difficult to say, but that she did succeed in embarrassing him was very evident. He frowned and pretended not to have heard her, but she would not let him off so lightly. "Go on, Mr. Pendleton," she said. "Do your duty." Celia was standing next to him and looked up at him expectantly. He stooped and kissed her cheek in a perfunctory way, no doubt believing that to comply was the best way out of his trouble, but Thelma would not leave it at that. "Kiss one, kiss all," she said. Audrey could have killed her at that moment. Why did she go out of her way to embarrass him? He had the effect on her of always bringing out her worst side - her most vulgar side.

He gave her a withering look but obeyed her injunction by kissing the three little girl bridesmaids, and then he came to Audrey and she could have sunk through the floor. "I suppose I'm expected to kiss you, too," he said dryly. "Not at all," she replied hotly. "I've been commanded to do so." "Then I command you not to." "It's not for you to command." He put his face forward as if to kiss her, but she ducked away from him. He caught her by the wrist, but she struggled to get free. His grip was like a vice, however, and she only succeeded in hurting herself. "Let me go!" she demanded. "Certainly not." "But you're hurting me!" "That's because you're defying me. I shall break your wrist if necessary," and he gave it a twist which made her think for a moment that he was going to suit the action to the words. "Charles, come and sign the register," Peter called out to him. Charles let go of her. "You have been saved this tune by the intervention of providence," he said in a low voice; "but remember I am accustomed to having my own way. I don't allow anyone to defy me," and he turned his back on her and went over to sign the book, leaving her to nurse her bruised wrist. Celia at once came up to her. "What was he saying to you?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," Audrey replied, almost too angry to speak. "Are we all ready?" Thelma cried out. She could not resist stage-managing everybody. They got into line behind Vivien and Peter, and Vivien took Peter's arm while he held her hand tightly clasped in his own, and as the strains of Mendelssohn's wedding march rang out they began to move slowly back into the church. Audrey's face was burning and so was her wrist, but she would have been surprised to know how pretty her flushed face was making her look. From Audrey's point of view the reception dragged rather, and it seemed a long time - a very long time indeed - before the cake was cut, and then soon afterwards Peter and Vivien disappeared to dress for their "going away" - but before they went Vivien sought Audrey out and whispered, "Come up in five minutes and help me change. We're going to have a little party of just special friends in our sitting-room." When Audrey went up there she found several people already in her room, and Peter in the room next door was holding another court of his own men friends. Vivien was almost too excited to dress and Audrey had to help her. She certainly looked lovely in her green suit, and the saffron blouse went beautifully with her reddy gold hair. "I can't bear to part with it," she said, as Audrey took her wedding dress away and hung it up in the cupboard. "Lovely, lovely dress, how I love you," and she rushed up to it and kissed it before it was shut away. "To think I shall never wear it again," she said sadly. "It seems such waste!" When she was dressed, they went into the sitting-room of the suite, where Peter and his friends were already assembled and where Peter was in the process of opening a bottle of champagne. "Come on," he called out to the girls; and for a little time they made merry while

the rest of the guests waited below to see the bride and bridegroom off. Audrey found that she was enjoying this part of the wedding more than all the rest of it put together. The children had discovered the delights of rushing up and down the corridors, and for this one occasion nobody told them that they mustn't, so they were having the time of their lives. Every now and again they popped into the sitting-room with their little faces aglow, only to run out again the nest moment and continue their mad racing up and down. It was Charles who broke up the party at last. "Everybody will be getting restive downstairs," he said; "and besides, I have my train to catch." "What a pity," Vivien said, "this is such fun!" "But he's right," Peter put in. "We mustn't keep them waiting any longer. Are you ready, darling?" "Yes, I've only got my coat to put on." It was Audrey who helped her on with her coat, and Vivien turned and kissed her afterwards. "Good-bye, Audrey darling," she said. "And thank you a million, million times for all you've done for me. Don't think I don't realize how much you've done just because I've been so selfishly wrapped up in myself. You may think I've taken it all for granted, but I haven't . . . Good-bye, I'll see you again very, very soon." "Good-bye, bless you," Audrey said, "and have a wonderful time." They all filed out and left Thelma to have a moment alone with her daughter. Even Peter tactfully left them alone together and waited outside in the corridor. Thelma came out presently with a handkerchief to her face and hurried towards the lift.

Everyone assembled by the ballroom exit, and soon Peter and Vivien, hand in hand, and radiant-looking, came down the passage waving and blowing kisses and passed out through the ballroom door. It was only the privileged few who knew that they were just going round the corner and coming in again at another door!

Audrey was looking round for Thelma who was to take her back to Verne Street when Charles suddenly appeared at her side. "I just want to say good-bye," he said. "Oh, you're off?" "Yes, and I'm late. If I don't go at once I shall miss my train." "You'll not be sorry to go," she said, "seeing what you feel about London." He made no direct answer to this but said again, "Goodbye." "Good-bye," she replied holding out her hand. He took it, and for a moment she felt the power of his grasp, and then he let it go and turned and left her without another word.

CHAPTER SEVEN FOR some weeks after the wedding, Audrey found herself restless and dissatisfied. Her work seemed to have lost its savour and she found it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts kept reverting to Charles and his face was continually before her mind's eye. As the weeks wore on, however, her common sense gradually reasserted itself; her interest in her work returned, and though the thought of Charles was still there, somewhere in the background, she could no longer recall his face.... She had been in danger - great danger - but thank goodness the danger had been averted. Her peace of mind had been seriously threatened, but she believed that she had got the better of it. For a moment her heart, which had been dead for so long, had come to life again, and she had felt - felt acutely; but now, thank goodness, it had relapsed again into its former moribund condition. She didn't want to feel again; she never wanted to be in love again. It hurt too much. She had only seen Vivien and Peter once since the wedding, on the occasion when they had passed through London after their honeymoon on their way to Coburn, but Vivien had written to her constantly, and in almost every letter she had begged her to come up and stay with them; but while the danger of falling in love with Charles was still a reality to her, she Would not have gone up there for anything in the world. The weeks and months had passed quickly and it was now July and she was beginning to think of her summer holiday. She had had an invitation to go to Torquay, and some other friends had asked her to go with them to Bath, and she was hesitating between the two plans. Vivien had also written to her to ask her to go up to Coburn for her holiday, but although she believed that all danger was now over, as far as her own feelings for Charles were concerned, she did not think it would be very amusing. Vivien and Peter would be entirely

wrapped up in each other and there would be very little for her to do. Thelma had gone up there the week before, her gist visit. Her show had come off at last and she was taking a short holiday before starting rehearsals for a new one. Audrey was very anxious to know how she was getting on up there. Vivien had written to say that she had arrived and that it was lovely (lovely underlined) to have her, but that was all she had heard so far. Audrey believed that she had detected a different note in Vivien's letters lately. The tone of rapture seemed to have disappeared from them and they nearly all seemed to end with the words: "There's nothing more to say as we never seem to do anything up here of any interest." Could it be possible that she was getting bored already? And then Thelma returned to London and rang Audrey up immediately and asked her to lunch with her at Verne Street the next day. "I must talk to you about Vivien," she said. "There's nothing wrong, I hope?" "Well, I don't want to say anything over the telephone. I'll tell you to-morrow." Audrey went round to Verne Street next day full of an anxious curiosity, and Thelma did not keep her long in suspense. She plunged right into the subject before lunch was announced. "I'm worried to death about Vivien," she said. "Why?" "She's so bored up there. Peter is away all day - he's working very hard, I must say, Charles sees to that - and she's so much alone. It's all right if someone is staying up there, but even I, and you know how I love being with Vivien, was bored to death. They don't seem to have any neighbours, or if they do have any they never see them

or they live a hundred miles away or something. I never saw a cat the whole time I was up there. On weekdays, breakfast is at eight, and you're not encouraged to have it in bed, and then Charles and Peter go off and don't come back till six." "Don't they even come back to lunch?" "Yes, they do as a matter of fact, most days, but only for about half an hour, and all the rest of the time there's just nothing to do - just nothing at all. I'd go nuts if I had to live up there -I nearly did as it was - and I'm sure it's driving poor little Viv crazy." "I can't understand having nothing to do in your own home," Audrey put in in a puzzled way. "That's just the trouble, I expect, it isn't her own home." "But it will be, and the place is hers - the country - the estate. Not yet perhaps, but she ought to be getting to know it... Then there's the garden." "She knows nothing about gardening." "Then there's all the more to learn - all the more to do." "I dare say you're right, but Vivien doesn't seem to be able to make a life for herself. She's like me. She likes things to happen to her plenty of fun and games." "Then what does she do all day?" "Just moons around. I wasn't able to help her because I felt so goddarn bored myself. We just mooned around together, waiting for the next meal." "Poor Peter," Audrey said. "Does he realize she's bored?"

"No, not yet. She keeps it from him and cheers up like anything when he comes home in the evening, and never complains or says a word. But I don't see how she can hide it from him indefinitely. He's bound to find it out sooner or later. It'll tell on her spirits for one thing - and on her looks. She's got ever so much thinner already." "Does Peter seem happy?" "Yes, radiant. Oh, I'm not saying far a minute that they're falling out of love or anything. On the contrary, they seem more crazy about each other than ever - but it's just the daytime; it's just her having nothing to do. She's pining." "Perhaps if she has a baby ..." Audrey suggested. "Yes, maybe -She's certainly longing to have one, but I can't somehow see her looking after it herself. I can't feel it will make a life for her... And then another thing, she never feels really well up there. The climate doesn't suit her. She feels out of sorts all the time. I know just how she feels because I felt like that, too. You just don't want to make any effort to do anything." "I am sorry," Audrey said, and there was real distress in her voice. "What about Charles? Does he know, do you think?" "I wouldn't know. I saw very little of him. He's out farming from morning to night He lives quite a separate life except for meals. He never sits with them in the evening. He's given the drawing-room over to them entirely and he sits in his library or else in a little sitting-room off the hall." "I know that room," Audrey exclaimed, and a sudden vivid recollection came to her of lying down there that afternoon after her fall when Charles had covered her over with a rug, and again for a moment she experienced that strange, ineffable sweetness which had enveloped her then.

"What are we to do, Audrey?" Thelma asked with a sigh. "She'll have to make a life for herself," Audrey declared. "She'll just have to if she's to save her marriage." "Will you help her?" "I?" "Yes, you. I can't think of anyone else who could help her as you could. Go up there to her - she's longing for you, simply longing for you, and teach her how to make some kind of life for herself. Teach her how to get interested in the garden and the place and the estate. You know. You'd know how to do it. Give her an interest in it all. I can't do it. On| the contrary, I'm the worst possible person for her because we're too much alike - and besides, you can't teach someone something you don't know yourself. But you can. You could make a life for yourself up there if it was your home, couldn't you?" "Yes," Audrey replied simply but with complete confidence. "There you are. So you're the person to do it. Will you, Audrey? Will you go up there and help her?" It was difficult to resist such an appeal. "You know I'd do anything for Vivien," she said, "and if her marriage is going badly and I can really do anything to help..." "You're the only person who can," Thelma put in gloomily.

And so it was settled. Vivien was simply overjoyed when she heard that Audrey was coming to spend the whole fortnight of her holiday

with her, and it was arranged that she should go in the second week of August. How different it was arriving, that August evening, from the time before when she and Vivien had arrived for Christmas. This time Vivien and Peter were both there at the station to meet her, and she received a royal welcome. The warmth of Vivien's hug made up to her for any sacrifice she might have made in coming, and Peter, too, could not have been more cordial. They got to the Castle in plenty of time to have a bath and change before dinner, and Audrey was glad to find that she had been put in the same room which she had occupied before, but now, of course, Vivien was not next door to her; she and Peter occupied rooms in another wing. Audrey went down to dinner in the highest spirits, with just a little uncontrollable flutter of excitement in her heart at the prospect of seeing Charles again so soon. He was not there in the drawing-room When she got down, but she remembered what Thelma had said about his never sitting with them in the drawing-room, so she imagined that he would join them for dinner, but when they went into the dining-room she saw to her consternation that the table was laid for only three. "Is your brother not here?" she asked Peter as casually as she could as she took her place. "No, he went away yesterday," Peter replied. "We think he's gone to Scotland." Was it her imagination or did he speak with a certain restraint - a certain embarrassment? "Has he gone for long?" she could not help asking. "For a fortnight or so, I believe."

Then he would be away the whole time she was there. The acute, overwhelming disappointment she felt might have told her how much she had been deceiving herself all this time- might have told her that it was not only for Vivien's sake that she had forgone the chance of a pleasant holiday to come up here into the lonely wilds of Northumberland. Her disappointment was so keen that she had the greatest difficulty in swallowing the food which was put in front of her or even in speaking. Her disappointment had formed itself into a hard lump in her throat. "We think it was very unkind of him to go away just as you were coming," Vivien blurted out. Peter frowned at her. She was obviously being tactless. "His going had nothing at all to do with Audrey's coming. He needed a change badly. He's been overworking grossly." Peter said this quickly, but his assurance only made Audrey feel that his going had, in truth, had everything to do with her coming. "He didn't want me to come," she said to herself. "He dislikes me so much that he couldn't even bear to be in the same house with me again. I ought never to have come. I've driven him away." The whole way through dinner she was fighting to get control of herself again, and gradually the hard lump in her throat dissolved so that by the time they went bad: to the drawing-room she was able to talk quite normally and naturally again. Nevertheless she was glad of the excuse of her long journey to go to bed early that night, and it was barely ten o'clock when she said good night.

She woke to the most beautiful morning and turned her thoughts to the object for which she had come. Surely it was a perfect day on which to start awakening Vivien's interest in the garden.

The moment after breakfast Peter kissed Vivien good-bye and went off to work, and as soon as he had gone, Audrey said to her, "Well, what do we do now? What do you usually do?" "Oh, I don't know," Vivien answered with a certain listless- ness. "I just sort of sit about. I go and see the housekeeper and then I read the papers. ... What do you want to do?" "I want you to show me round the garden." "All right," Vivien replied rather half-heartedly. "I'll get the chairs put out on the terrace. I think it's going to be hot -I'll just go and see the housekeeper and then I'll be with you in about ten minutes." Audrey strolled out on to the terrace while she was waiting. It was certainly a beautiful day. There was a slight haze in the distance which promised great heat later on, but at the moment everything was wonderfully fresh and sweet-smelling. Vivien soon joined her and led her away from the terrace down a long grass walk to the herbaceous borders. "Oh, it's so beautiful," Audrey kept saying. "What lovely roses. Don't you adore it all?" "I should like it better if it was mine," Vivien said. "But it will be one day?" "I don't somehow think it ever will. I don't want it to anyway." "Why ever not?" Audrey asked in surprise. "Oh, it's much too big. It would be wasted on me. I want a little house and a little garden - a little place that I can really feel belongs to me. There's much too much responsibility here and I've come to the conclusion that I hate responsibility more than anything in the world."

"But what about Peter? He loves this place, doesn't he?" "Well, the funny thing is I've discovered that he doesn't. He loves this country - he adores Northumberland - but he would really be awfully pleased if he wasn't going to inherit this huge castle and all that it involves. He doesn't very much like responsibility either, and he'd be much happier in a little house. We both wish with all our hearts that Charles would get married and have a son and relieve us of this inheritance which neither of us wants." "How very extraordinary," Audrey said. "I thought Peter loved it so." "I used to think so, too, but I've learnt a lot about him since we were married. It's Charles who's crazy about this place. It's his whole life and he's tried to instil the same sort of worship into Peter, but without success. Peter owns it to me, but he wouldn't dare own it to Charles because he is afraid Charles would be so terribly disappointed in him.... Do you know, there's something else I've learnt. Peter was never here as a little boy. His mother couldn't bear it up here and she hardly ever came here. She spent most of her time abroad." "What about her husband?" "He went with her because he adored her so and only wanted to do what made her happy, but I believe the place was rather neglected in her lifetime. Charles used to be here alone. He must have had a very lonely time of it He wouldn't go abroad with his father and stepmother. He preferred to stay here. He saw hardly anything of his father in his later years, and he wasn't even there when he died because he died abroad."' "Then Charles didn't get on with his stepmother?" "What makes you say that?"

"Because I can't believe he would get on with anyone who didn't love this place, let alone someone who actually neglected her responsibilities towards it." "Yes, I suppose you're right. Peter has never actually said Charles didn't get on with his stepmother, but now I come to think of it he couldn't have liked her... I suppose that's why he doesn't like me?" "Doesn't like you? But surely he likes you?" Vivien shook her lovely head. "No, he doesn't approve of me. Oh, he's politeness itself to me and full of a sort of old- world courtesy towards me, but he doesn't approve of me. I suppose it's because he sees through me. He knows I'm no good at all this," and she flung out her arm in a sweeping, all-including gesture. "Peter knows, but he doesn't mind because he's not really much good at it himself. He must have more of his mother in him than his father." "I wonder why it is Charles doesn't want to marry," Audrey Said musingly. "Why he hates women so?" "Peter's got a theory about it -I don't know if it's the right one - but he believes that Charles thinks that women make fools of men - that a woman saps a man's strength. Charles is often quoting the story of Samson, apparently. Samson was a real man, he says, until he got into Delilah's clutches. He believes that his own father was made a fool of by Peter's mother, and he isn't going to allow any woman to make a fool of him or take away any of his strength. That's Peter's theory...." And a very interesting theory Audrey found it. Somehow she suddenly seemed to understand Charles better. She saw him in her mind's eye as a proud, lonely boy hating the stepmother who had taken his father away from his home and responsibilities. Was it, then, as a boy, that he had developed his taste for solitude?

"I've got an idea," Audrey said with a sudden inspiration. "There's a village school here, isn't there?" "Yes, an awfully nice little school." "Why don't you get up a play and coach all the children to act in it?" "Oh, Audrey! What a divine idea." A sudden light came into Vivien's eyes and a flush appeared on her cheeks. "But it's holiday time now," she added as an afterthought. "All the better. I don't suppose many of the children will have gone away and there'll be more time...." "Oh, Audrey, it is an exciting idea. I should love it. Do you think they'd like it?" "I'm sure they would. And it would be a good way of getting to know them, too." "How shall I begin?" "Well, first of all you've got to choose your play. ..." "I know! What about trying to do The Little Sweep? Some of those children sing very well. I noticed it at the party at Christmas." "Yes, I don't see why you shouldn't try that," Audrey agreed. Vivien could talk of nothing else the whole morning and at lunch time when Peter came back he was at once drawn into the plan to which he gave his enthusiastic support. In the afternoon Vivien and Audrey went into the village and managed to round up some of the children. They were at first speechless and over-awed, but they thawed later under the influence of lemonade and cake in the garden

and went away promising to come back the next afternoon and bring with them all the other children they could muster. The following morning Vivien and Audrey went into Newcastle where they succeeded in getting the music of The Little Sweep. Audrey realized that much of her time for reading would now be curtailed because she would be expected to play the piano for the rehearsals, but she was So glad to have succeeded in her object of giving Vivien an interest in life that she did not mind. Peter said that they had better use the piano in the minstrels' gallery because he did not think Charles would like to have his room used, so all that afternoon and most of the next morning they rehearsed in the great hall. Vivien was so keen that she wanted to go on that afternoon, too, but Audrey declared that she was exhausted, and besides, she said, if the children were made to do too much they might get bored. As it was they were enthusiastic about the whole project, but Audrey knew how quickly the interest of a child can fade the moment a new idea gets a tiny bit stale. "I've been in all the morning," Audrey said after lunch that day, "and I feel I must get some exercise. I'm going for a long walk. Do you feel like coming with me?" "No," Vivien replied, "I want to write out some parts." "But you ought to get some fresh air." . "I will; I'll take them out into the garden to do." Audrey started out, taking her swimsuit with her, and her feet seemed to lead her instinctively towards the "Gap", and she was well into it before she quite realised where she was. She remembered the derelict cottage a little way along the beach and decided to walk along to it and bathe from there. She could use it as a bathing cabin.

She took off her shoes and tied them together by the laces and slung them round her neck and walked along the fringe of the sea - the water was just lapping her feet She was wearing a sleeveless blue linen dress and the sun beat down on her bare head and brought out all the golden tints in her hair. If she could have seen herself objectively she would have realized how much she resembled a sea nymph at that moment and what a very attractive picture she made walking along like that by the edge of the sea. It did not seem to take nearly as long today to reach the cottage as it had taken last time when she and Charles had been battling against the wind, but it was very hot walking and the prospect of plunging into the cool water became more and more attractive, so that by the time she reached the cottage garden it had become like a thirst, and she was already beginning to undo the buttons of her dress so as to be able to throw it off as quickly as possible. The door of the cottage was away from the sea, and as she went round the corner to get to it she was almost knocked backwards by surprise: Charles was standing, leaning idly against the door-post, his eyes turned in her direction. He gave no sign of surprise when he saw her, but a slightly sardonic smile appeared on his face. She clutched her dress which was gaping open, and her mind floundered in utter confusion. "I had no idea you would be here. ..; I came here to bathe," she blurted out in a great rush. "Yes, I saw you coming," he replied serenely. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "This is my home at the moment," he answered. "I thought you were in Scotland."

"So you were meant to think - you were all meant to think so - but since you've now discovered that I'm not in Scotland I must ask you to respect my secret." "Of course - but why ... ?" "Must one give a reason for all one's actions?" he asked with a rising note of anger in his voice. "I'm sorry." "So you came here to bathe, did you?.... Well, since you're here you'd better bathe, then." He stood away from the door and motioned to her to pass through in front of him. She went in and was immediately struck by the transformation which had been brought about inside. The walls of the room had been whitewashed; there were rugs on the floor and pictures hanging up, and in the way of furniture there was a writingdesk, a table, an armchair, a couple of other ordinary chairs and a divan bed spread with a beautiful quilt. Altogether it had been transformed into a little paradise. "Have you been living here long?" she couldn't help asking. "Since the day before you arrived," he replied. "Oh, please don't think I mean anything personal by that... I had it fitted up like this in the spring. It has long awaited my coming. I planned it that day we came here at Christmas. I felt sure that I should need a refuge some day when once Peter was married." "And do you intend to stay here?" "At the moment I'm taking a long overdue holiday, but apart from that I intend to come here from time to time when I feel the need to be by myself and to get away from everything. It's somewhere

where I had hoped that no one would ever find me - where no one would ever think of looking for me - but unfortunately you've discovered it," and that note of anger crept back into his voice again. "I won't say anything. Naturally I won't if you ask me not to." "And how can I be sure that I can trust you?" "I'll give you my word." "Can one ever trust a woman?" he asked contemptuously. "Why not? Why shouldn't a woman's word be as good as a man's?" "It should be for me to ask you that, Miss Lawrence. Why isn't a woman's word as good as a man's?" "It is," she said, her anger rising. "I'll prove it to you." "Very well, Miss Lawrence, I will give you the chance. Remember, though, that the reputation of your whole sex now depends upon whether you can keep your word or not." "Then the reputation of my sex is safe with me," she replied. "Now let's get on with our bathe," he said, "It isn't me who has been holding it up," she replied. "Are you going to bathe too?" "Yes, I think it's time for another dip. I go in about six times a day in this weather. If you would like to undress here I'll go into the kitchen." She undressed quickly and put on her swimsuit. He soon joined her and they ran down to the sea together. The water was much colder

than she had expected, perhaps because the air was so warm, and she gave a little scream as it closed over her. She had intended not to put her head under water because she had forgotten to bring her bathing cap, but when once she was in she could not resist it. There is perhaps no more delicious feeling in the world than bathing without a cap, and her hair streamed behind her in the water so that she felt just like a mermaid. By the time she got out she was full of a delicious sensation of wellbeing. Charles lent her a towel and by the time he rejoined her in the living-room she was dressed and rubbing her hair hard with the towel to dry it. "I thought women were so artificial nowadays that they couldn't possibly let their hair get wet," he said sarcastically. "Oh, it doesn't seem to matter with mine. It's all sticky, but I'm sure the salt is good for it It's a lovely feeling anyway. Oh, I feel so well.'.' "Are you feeling hungry, by any chance?" he asked. "Yes, ravenous. I must be going or I shall miss my tea." "I can give you something to eat here of a kind," he said. "No, I mustn't intrude any longer on your solitude." "You've disturbed me anyway now," he replied ungraciously, "so you might as well stay and have some tea here.... As a matter of fact you might be very useful to me. You can fetch and carry for me from the Castle. There's a book I want very badly which I should be obliged if you would bring me tomorrow. I need it for the research I'm doing, for though I'm having a holiday from one kind of work, I've embarked on another. Come into the kitchen and we'll see if there's anything to eat"

"What do you cook on here?" she asked, as she followed him into the kitchen next door. "Oh, I don't do much cooking; I live mostly on tins, but I've got an oil stove." "Oh, what a mess!" she couldn't help exclaiming when she saw the kitchen. "Well, you try washing up in cold water." Charles sounded suddenly like a spoilt, sulky little boy. "You can heat some water to wash up in." "I'll light the burner and we'll boil a kettle for tea," he said. "Do you mind if I clear up a bit while it's boiling?" "No, if you want to," he replied grudgingly. She took some of the hot water before it was boiling and washed up his plates and cups in a basin, and generally tidied up. While she was doing this he had gone back to the other room, so that she had the opportunity of taking stock of the provisions he had brought with him into his retreat. As he had said, they were mostly tins - the milk was also tinned - and there were biscuits instead of bread, but he had plenty of tea and coffee, and bottles of ginger ale, and there was a whole store of apples and some chocolate. In all there was enough there to last him for about a month. They made a rather strange but excellent meal out of pilchards, apples and chocolate, washed down by great quantities of tea, and when they had finished Audrey took the tray back into the kitchen and washed up.

She came back into the living-room and said, "Well, I suppose I must be going." "This is the book I want," he said. "I've written it down for you. It's lying on my desk in the library. Will you bring it to-morrow?" "Very well." "What sort of time can you come?" "The same time as today?" "You couldn't come in the morning, I suppose? I need that book badly." "I don't quite see how I can get away." "No, I suppose not," he said dryly. "Well, come as soon as you can after lunch. You'll be able to get away then, I suppose?" "Yes, I think so." "And remember, not a word to a living soul about my being here." "But supposing they find out, and realize that I've known all along?" she asked in sudden doubt. "That will be my business," he replied. "You've been sworn to secrecy. It's nothing to do with you." "But supposing they want to come down to the beach and bathe?" "We never come this far when we bathe. We bring a tent . down with us and bathe just where one comes out at the end of the gap. There's no chance of anyone finding me here." "But I found you here!"

"You!" There was an infinity of meaning in the way he tittered the word, but she did not know how to interpret it. "I can't understand what made you come here," he went on. "This long walk along the beach - in the heat -" "I wanted somewhere to bathe from," Audrey defended herself. By this time she was by the front door and she turned round to say good-bye to him. "I'll come tomorrow then and bring the book," she said. "Good-bye." Charles came out with her into the garden and he stood there watching her as she walked away. Once or twice she looked back and he was still there.

It was six o'clock by the time she got back and Vivien was beginning to get really worried. "Where on earth have you been?" she demanded. "To the sea. I've been bathing." "I thought that must be where you'd gone and I was terrified you'd been drowned. You've missed your tea, but I'll ring for some more for you." "Oh, no," Audrey protested, "I'm not in the least hungry. All I want is a glass of water," but Vivien insisted on having some fresh tea brought for her and some cucumber sandwiches and take, and Audrey felt compelled to eat and drink. She was not in the least hungry after the meal she had had with Charles and had to force herself to swallow the food. She suddenly realized in what a very false and unpleasant position she had put herself. In one sense it was exciting to be sharing a

secret with Charles, but she hated having to deceive Vivien, and for a moment she was almost tempted to make a clean breast of it all, and then remembered that she had given Charles her word, that she had to prove to him that he could trust her.

The next morning, before they started rehearsals, she found the book which Charles wanted in his library and took it up to her own room to keep till the afternoon when she could take it to him. Her sense of guilt at having a secret from Vivien had disappeared by lunch time and she was only terrified now lest she failed to get away, or in case Vivien suggested going with her on her walk. The whole of her mind was centred on the thought of seeing Charles again. Would anything turn up to prevent her from keeping her appointment with him? Peter came back to lunch that day in a great state of excitement. "We've got a house!" he announced to Vivien. "Got a house! Where? What on earth do you mean?" "Partinger Lodge. The Dales have been in it for twenty years and we couldn't possibly turn them out, but they're leaving of their own accord. Isn't it marvellous? George Dale came to see me this morning to ask if he could possibly be released from the remainder of his lease! I nearly threw my arms round his neck and told him that the sooner he left the better." "And we can have it?" Vivien asked. "Of course. It's the very house that Charles has always wanted me to have. It will suit us down to the ground. We can move into it as soon as they leave. There'll be nothing to be done. It's in perfect order." "But the furniture ..." Vivien began.

"Oh, nearly all the furniture's ours anyway - all the main things like beds - and it'll be fun getting the rest, won't it?" "Oh, yes. When are they moving out?" "They want to leave in about a month." "Not for a month?" Peter laughed at the consternation in her voice. "There you are!" he said. "This morning you didn't think there was any hope of having a home of our own for at least a year, and now you're working yourself up because we can't, have one for a month!" "Can't I even see it for a month?" "Yes, I knew you would want to see it, so I've arranged with George Dale to show it to you this afternoon." "Oh, goody!" Vivien exclaimed, clapping her hands just like a child. "Yes," Peter went on. "I've arranged to go there at about four. You and Audrey can take the other car and come and pick me up at the office." Audrey's heart sank. "I'll see it another time," she said quickly. "You and Vivien would like to see it alone the first time, I'm sure." "What nonsense," Peter said. "Of course you must come and see it with us." "Of course you must," Vivien agreed. "I shan't go without you. What time do you think we ought to start, Peter?" "Between a quarter and half-past three."

It would cut right into the afternoon. There would be no time to slip down to the beach before they started. A terrible depression settled down on Audrey and it was all she could do to keep up her end of the conversation and try to enter into Vivien's delight. It was only then that she realized how desperately she was longing to see Charles again. Her eagerness could be measured in terms of her present disappointment and it was very great. But there was nothing to be done about it. It took a good threequarters of an hour to walk to Charles's hideout on the beach, so the only chance was that there might possibly be time to go there when they got back before dinner. When they set out to pick Peter up, Vivien was in the wildest spirits. "I can't tell you what a difference it will make to me if we can get our own home," she said to Audrey. "It isn't that Charles isn't kind he is - but I can't help feeling that he watches everything I do - and particularly everything I don't do! And that makes me nervous. Even when he's : away like this it makes all the difference. I feel so much freer. For instance I don't think I would have dared start this Little Sweep idea if he had been here." "Do you think he would disapprove of it?" Audrey asked. "I don't know. That's just the trouble. I never know what he really thinks or feels. As you know, I'm a terribly open person and so is Mummy, and I'm used to everybody saying just what they think and feel. I don't understand this reserve that Charles has got. I wish he would come out into the open and tell me just what he thinks of me and just what I do wrong. I might be able to do right then." Poor Vivien! Audrey could understand just how she felt She knew that disturbing quality in Charles. You never knew what he was really thinking or feeling. She wondered whether one would ever know, however intimate one became with him.

She found that talking about Charles was the next best thing to visiting him at the cottage, and so she encouraged Vivien to go on with the subject, and it was about Charles that they talked exclusively all the way to Peter's office, but Audrey did not learn any more about him than she knew already. What Vivien said about him only seemed to deepen his mystery and confirm the enigma of his character. Peter was ready waiting for them and they drove straight to Partinger Lodge. "I don't know what to do with Charles's letters," Peter said on the way there. "They're piling up and he told me not to forward anything but to deal with them myself. Well, that's all right for business letters, but I don't know what to do with his private letters. One came this morning from Celia and I don't know whether to open it or not." "What did he say about his private letters?" Vivien asked. "He told me to open everything." "Then you'll have to open Celia's or she'll wonder why he hasn't answered it." "I can't think why he went away without leaving an address." "Has he ever done such a thing before?" Audrey asked. "Not that I remember. I have been told that he used to go away into the blue like this, but I don't remember it. I suppose I was at school at the time." Vivien and Audrey looked out of the window with great curiosity as they drew up at the lodge. It was just off the main road but entirely screened from view by rhododendrons. They approached it by a

short sweeping drive and drew up outside the white door of an old stone house. There was a magnolia growing up the outside, now in full bloom, and as they were waiting for the bell to be answered, Vivien put her nose to it and inhaled the sweet lemon smell with rapture. "I've always longed for a magnolia," she told Peter. "There are lots of them at the Castle," Peter replied. "I mean a magnolia of my very own," she said. The door was opened to them by George Dale himself. "Come right in," he said, "and welcome to your future home." It was altogether a charming house - compact and yet roomy - and if not able to boast any particularly beautiful or noteworthy architectural features, at least having no need to apologize for any glaring defects. It was a well-built, well- proportioned, small manor house in the best tradition of solid English architecture. Vivien was absolutely delighted with it; and when they had seen all over it they had to stay and have tea, and were then shown all over the garden. Audrey found her spirits sinking lower and lower as the chances of getting to Charles before dinner dwindled and dwindled. What would he think of her? Did he need the book very badly? Oh, why didn't Vivien hurry? But Vivien was not to be hurried, and by the time they got back to the Castle there was no possible hope of being able to run down to the sea before dinner. Audrey would just have to abandon the idea of seeing Charles that day and put the best possible face on it that she could. After dinner that evening, Peter said, "I've opened Celia's letter. It's just as well I did, because's she's written to ask if she can come and stay.... If she does I'm afraid we'll never get rid of her. Her visits before used to be determined by the length of time she could

persuade her mother to stay, but now you're living here, Vivien darling, as a permanent chaperone, I don't see why she should ever go. She doesn't say anything about Aunt Dorothy coming." "You've only got to write and tell her that Charles is away and that we don't know when he's coming back - which is true," Vivien replied. "She won't come if he isn't here. We needn't flatter ourselves that she is coming to see us." "No, that's true," Peter said. "She certainly won't want to come if Charles isn't here. I wonder if she will ever learn that nothing in the world will ever induce Charles to get married. She's probably right in thinking that if he marries anybody it will be her, but he's not going to marry at all." "Do you think he would marry her if he married anybody?" Vivien asked. "Is he so very fond of her?" "Oh, yes. He's known her all her life. He was frightfully fond of her when she was a child. He used to make a tremendous fuss of her and she was devoted to him. She has a real hero-worship for him. Everybody used to say that they would get married, and I suppose the idea got firmly planted in her head and had never been able to get out again." Audrey found this conversation horribly disturbing. In a way she wanted them to talk about Charles, but in another way she could not bear to hear about him. Her mind was in a state of utter confusion where he was concerned, and the fact that he should ever have been fond of Celia - even when she was a little girl - caused her the most unreasoning pain. She could not feel sorry for Celia, for Celia was too proud and spoilt to evoke sympathy or even pity. ***

Audrey woke the next morning to another glorious day of blue sky hazy with heat, and she longed to rush down to the sea the moment breakfast was over, but the children were coming at ten o'clock for another rehearsal and she was needed to play the piano, so she had to contain herself in patience. Peter said at breakfast that the weather was going to break because the glass was going down, and her heart sank. By the afternoon, however, the sky was still cloudless and it was hotter than ever. "There's going to be a thunderstorm this evening," Peter had predicted at lunch. "I don't care what happens this evening," Audrey thought, "so long as nothing prevents me from getting to him this afternoon." She was terrified now lest Vivien should decide to accompany her on her walk, and it was as casually as possible that she said after Peter had gone back to the office, "I think I'll go down to the sea this afternoon to bathe." "You'll be back to tea, won't you?" Vivien asked. "Well, I may not be. Don't wait for me." "Do try and be back." "I'll try," and she escaped quickly in case Vivien should decide to come with her. She had almost reached the top of the Gap when she realized that she had forgotten Charles's book. What should she do? Should she go back again? What if she ran into Vivien and Vivien decided to come with her after all? She was very tempted to go on without the book, but then what excuse would she have for going at all? She couldn't very well say to Charles, "I've come without your book, but I've come all the same:" He might reply, "Then why on earth have you come?"

No, there was nothing for it; she would have to go back. She approached the house like a criminal, carefully avoiding the garden side, and ran swiftly upstairs, got the book and was out again at the front door in the space of a few seconds. She had been lucky, for she had not met a soul, and she hurried now towards the Gap as if fiends were after her. She did not feel safe until she had been swallowed up in the dank gloom of the ravine, and then she was able to quicken her pace because it was so cool in there. She was almost running at the end, and as she burst out on to the beach she ran almost into the arms of Charles himself. "So here you are," he exclaimed. "I came to meet you." "I'm so sorry I couldn't come yesterday," she replied breathlessly. "What happened?" he asked. "Oh, Peter arranged something for us to do." She did not feel that she ought to be the first to tell him about Peter's and Vivien's house. It was for them to tell him themselves. "I see," he said. "You've got my book, I hope." "Oh, yes, of course, that's why I came. Here it is," and she handed it to him. "Thank you," he said, taking it from her. "I've needed it very badly. In, fact I couldn't get on any longer without it. I was afraid you wouldn't come this afternoon - and bring the book.... Are you going to bathe now you're here?" "Yes. It may be my last opportunity. Peter says that the weather is going to break. The glass is going down." "Don't you like bathing when it's rough?"

"Oh, no." "Well, you'd better make the best of it today, then." "Do you mind if I use your house as a bathing cabin again?" "It's at your disposal." "Thank you." They turned and walked together along the beach in the direction of the cottage. A sudden wild happiness possessed her. She had got to him; she was with him; nothing else in the world seemed to matter. "Will you stay on here if the weather breaks?" she asked. "Most certainly," he replied. "Why not?" and then he added, without waiting for a reply, "I love the sea when it's wild and rough. ... I don't like it as it is today. It's too hot and everything looks glassy." They walked on for a few moments in silence, and then he inquired with conventional politeness: "I hope you're enjoying your visit to Coburn?" "Very much indeed, thank you." "What do you find to do with yourself all day?" It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about The Little Sweep, but then she thought better of it. It was not for her to tell him the news of the Castle. She did not want to feel that she was acting as a spy, passing on to him all that went on up there, so she said instead, "Oh, I find plenty to do. I'm never so happy as when I'm left to my own devices."

"I wish Vivien felt the same," he replied. "She hasn't succeeded in making a life for herself up here yet." "That will come gradually," Audrey replied with confidence. "It takes a little time to get adjusted and acclimatized." "Do you think she'll ever really fit in up here? I don't" "Give her time." "It isn't a question of time; it's a question of temperament.... I was right from the very beginning. I knew it was a mistake." "You're being unjust," Audrey said quickly. "I strongly deny that it's a mistake. They're perfectly happy together. They're more in love than ever." "In love! You women seem to think nothing is important except love - that if two people love each other that's all there is to it they're bound to be happy for the rest of their lives. "Love!" and his voice was full of a withering contempt. "Love may not be everything," Audrey replied as calmly as she could but feeling the anger rising in her, "but marriage without it would be intolerable." "That's beside the point," he replied. "The point is that Peter has elected to get married, and by marrying him his wife has put herself in a certain position - has taken on certain responsibilities." "It would be quite unnecessary for Vivien or for Peter to have those particular responsibilities if you would fulfil yours." The words came tumbling out before she could stop them, but afterwards she was aghast at what she had said.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded. "What are the responsibilities that I have failed to fulfil?" She had to answer him, and in answering him there was nothing for it but to tell him what she had really meant. "You should get married yourself," she said, and then she held her breath at the temerity of her own words. He laughed - his mocking, cynical laugh - which puzzled and angered her so much. "So you think it's my duty to get married, do you? And if I did - if I did suddenly change my mind and decide to get married - what about Peter? Do you think it would be fair on him having led him to believe that I shall never marry and that all this will inevitably come to him one day?" "I believe nobody would be more pleased than Peter himself." "What on earth do you mean by that?" he asked quickly. "I mean I don't believe that Peter wants any of this. He would be much happier without all this responsibility, just as Vivien would be happier without it. They're both very simple people and would be content with a simple life - without these tremendous ties and responsibilities." "Do you really think that?" he asked, and there was something in the tone of his voice which made her wonder whether perhaps this was not an entirely new idea to him. "Yes, I do," she replied. "What makes you think it?" "Well, I know that's how Vivien feels, because she's talked to me about it, and I've gathered from my own observation as much as from anything she has said that that's how Peter feels, too."

"I wonder," he said musingly. "I very much wonder," and then with a complete change of voice he added, "Well, whether they want it or not it's going to be theirs, for I shall never marry - never." Audrey longed to ask him why, but her anger had died down now and with it she had lost her momentary flash of courage. He was silent for a moment or two, and then, just as they were reaching the cottage, he said, "I don't agree with you that I'm shirking my responsibilities in not marrying. If there were no heir to the place it would be different, but I've trained Peter to be my heir, and Peter shall be my heir..,. If Vivien fails in her job up here she'll have to go, that's all - but Peter shall remain. There is such a thing as divorce...." His voice as he spoke was harsh and bitter, and, glancing up at him quickly, Audrey noticed how stern his face had become. This was the old Charles back again - the Charles she had first met and whom she had hated so much - and she felt a renewed anger against him now, and bitter resentment. That he should dare to so much as think of breaking up Vivien's marriage! The wickedness of it. But then he was a very wicked man. Thank goodness she had been reminded of it in time, for tins man was the man to whom she had been in danger - in very grave danger - of losing her heart. How terrible it must be to be in his power; how cruel he would be. For the first time she felt a spasm of real pity for Celia. To love him, and to let him know that you loved him, to put yourself at his mercy could anything be more frightful or more humiliating? "Thank goodness I've realized it in time," she said to herself. "Thank goodness I still have control of my own feelings. Thank goodness I hardly owned my weakness to myself, let alone to him or to anyone else," and a shudder passed through her as she considered the narrowness of her escape. "He shall not break up Vivien's marriage," she told herself. "If I have to give up my work and come and live up here always in order to protect her, he shan't break it up."

These thoughts passed like lightning through her brain, and her spirit was so roused that she forgot all her awe of him and was only conscious of a great longing to fight him, to hit back. "You say that Peter shall be your heir," she said angrily; "that he shall remain here and that Vivien must go if she doesn't fit into your conception of the sort of person she should be. Do you really believe you can control the lives of other human beings like that, Mr. Pendleton? What makes you so sure of yourself? What makes you so certain that you know best? What do you think it is that gives you a right to interfere with the lives of others? What right have you, or anyone, to try and break up a marriage?" "If I tried to tell you, you wouldn't understand," he replied, "so I shan't try. As an alternative I beg to suggest that you get into the sea as quickly as possible in order to cool your perfectly unjustifiable anger against me." "Unjustifiable anger!" she-retorted indignantly. "You call it unjustified?" "No, Miss Lawrence, I called it unjustifiable." "I don't see the difference." "I dare say not. ... If you'll excuse me, I'm going into the kitchen to get into my bathing things. The sitting-room is at your disposal. ... I have no wish to argue with you further. I've long ago discovered that it's when I'm most explicit that I'm most misunderstood," and with these words he passed in through the front door and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Audrey to rage against him in silence. Strangely enough the bathe did cool her anger. It is almost impossible, she discovered, to swim in sea water and be angry. The two things just don't go together. She had brought her cap with her this time, but remembering how delicious it had been the time

before, bathing without one, she decided to bathe without one again. She floated gently, looking up at the sky, her hair streaming behind her, while Charles struck out towards the horizon as if he intended to swim to Denmark. She had noticed the time before how powerful a swimmer he was. He was a powerful man altogether. "Perhaps it was his very strength which gave him such arrogance. At last it was time to come out, and they walked up the beach together. "If you don't mind getting caught in the storm you'd better stay and have some tea with me," he said grudgingly, and in spite of everything - in spite of all her anger against him for what he had said about Vivien - her heart rejoiced that he had asked her to stay. She did not want to leave him. That was the extraordinary thing. In spite of everything, in spite of all he had said and done, she did not want to leave him. What strange power was this that he exercised over her? She dried herself and dressed quickly, and then went to the kitchen. Charles was lighting the oil burner for the kettle. She noticed that the kitchen was in a terrible mess again. "I'll make the tea and clear up," she said. "I'm afraid it's in a bit of a mess," he replied rather shamefacedly, and then he added in quite a different tone of voice from any he had used that afternoon, "I rather hoped you might offer to clear up!" She couldn't help laughing. "So that's why you asked me to stay to tea, is it?" "Naturally. For what other reason?" "I thought perhaps you might want company," she replied half playfully.

"I wouldn't come and bury myself here if I were in need of company," he replied. "I'm not going to apologize for intruding on your solitude this afternoon," she said, "for it was you who asked me to come - with the book." "I'm well aware of that," he answered. "The book was very important to me." "It must have been," she said. "If you would like to go into the sitting-room and read it I'll bring your tea in to you. Do you want anything to eat?" "No, thank you. Please don't trouble. We'll just have a cup of tea," and he went into the sitting-room and closed the door behind him. It seemed to Audrey that he had not washed up a single plate or cup since she had last been there, and this was probably the truth, but she set about clearing up with an unconscious smile on her lips. It was extraordinary how much pleasure it gave her to work in this little kitchen of his. Without realizing it she began to sing while she washed up - Voi che sapete from Figaro, which had come into her head for no particular reason. When she brought in the tray with the tea on it Charles was sitting in the armchair with his back to her, holding the book which she had brought to him in both hands, apparently absorbed in it; but happening to glance over his shoulder as she passed by, she could not help noticing, to her infinite surprise, that the book was upside down. "Ah," he said as she placed the tray on a little table beside him. "I can do with this. Tea never tastes so good as it does after bathing." He put the book, face downwards, on the arm of his chair. "So you're fond of Mozart?" he asked abruptly.

"Mozart?" she asked in a puzzled way. "Yes, but what makes you say that suddenly?" "Don't you know what you were singing?" "Was I singing? Yes, I suppose I was. I hadn't realized it" "You were singing Figaro. ... Have you played at all up at the Castle?" She hesitated. She did not want to tell him a deliberate lie, nor did she want to give away the secret of The Little Sweep. "I have played a bit," she said. "Oh, not on the piano in your sitting-room, please don't think that On the piano in the minstrels' gallery." "Why not on the piano in my sitting-room?" "I wouldn't go in there for anything." "Please do," he said. "It's good for the piano to be played on. It's not played on enough. Please play on it I should like you to. In fact, I ask you to." "Is it a command?" she asked, smiling. "Practically. Anyway, it's a request" "You're not used to having your orders disobeyed, are you?" "No, I'm not accustomed to being disobeyed," he replied. "Perhaps one day someone will defy you," she said. "I think it unlikely," he replied. "Have some more tea?" "No, thank you, I must be going. I've promised Vivien to be back for tea."

"Stay a little longer," he said, "and we can talk about music." "No, I'm afraid I can't. I must be going," and she got up as she spoke. She did not know why she had said this so firmly. She had not in fact promised Vivien to be back for tea, and she longed to stay, and yet something within ha urged her to get up and go against her true inclination. Was it the will to show her independence both to herself and to him? She did not know, but for whatever reason it was there was no drawing back now; she had said she must go, so go she must, nor did Charles press her further to stay. She was Med with vain regrets and questionings all the way back to the Castle. She would not see him again now.... But perhaps, if it were fine and hot again tomorrow she could go down to the beach to bathe. She wouldn't go to the cottage, but he might come along the beach and find her as he had done this afternoon. But no, he had only come along this afternoon because he had wanted his book so badly. Then why was he reading the book upside down if he wanted it so badly? Oh, that was nothing to go on. He couldn't concentrate probably because of her singing. It was idiotic to try and read meanings into things which were not there... She was making a fool of herself in supposing for a moment ... Oh, dear, why had she left so soon? ... It all came back to that in the end. Why had she left when he had asked her to stay? The storm did not break till the middle of the night, and then it was a stupendous one. Audrey was woken by a terrific clap of thunder and sprang out of bed and went to the window to watch it. Her thoughts inevitably turned to Charles down in his cabin on the beach, and she wondered how he was enjoying it. She felt sure that he was awake and this somehow made her feel close to him. She got back to bed again and fell asleep still thinking of him.

CHAPTER EIGHT THE next day dawned cold and drizzling. The weather had broken completely. Audrey's first thoughts were, "If only I hadn't told him that I didn't like swimming when the weather was bad. If only I'd sad that the rougher and colder it was the more I liked it, then at least I should have an excuse to go down to the beach this afternoon, but now I can't possibly go." Peter did not have to go to work on Saturday afternoon, and when he suggested going over to see the Lodge again, Audrey deemed it tactful to let him and Vivien go by themselves this time, a suggestion to which they made no objection. "This time, when I can't go down to the beach, they don't press me to come with them," Audrey said to herself a little ruefully. "Last time, when I had every excuse for going to Charles, they insisted in my going with them!" She laughed to herself, and then added halfaloud, "You idiot!" She was furious with herself for thinking so much about Charles and yet she seemed quite incapable of controlling her thoughts. "The sooner I get away from here the better," she told herself after Vivien and Peter had driven off. "I don't know what it is about him. I think he's a cruel, callous, altogether beastly person, and yet he has this horrible fascination for me. When he is near, I don't want to be with anyone else, nor can I settle happily to anything. It's ridiculous. The sooner I get away from his sphere of influence the better. I'll never come up here again - never, never, never!" It was raining quite hard now and there was nothing to take her out of doors since she could not go down to the beach and she was just thinking of settling in the drawing-room with a book when she remembered Charles's injunction to play the piano in his sittingroom, and no sooner had the thought occurred to her than she found her feet taking her there.

She went over to the piano and sitting down at it, opened it, and was soon lost to all else but the music which seemed to flow from her fingers. She did not know how long she had been playing, and she was never to know how long Charles had been standing there listening to her. She had not heard him come in, and he must certainly have been standing there by the door, where she could not see him, for several minutes before he let his presence be known by coming up to the piano. The moment she saw him she broke off and, springing up, exclaimed, "You! What on earth are you doing here?" He put his fingers to his lips quickly and said, "Sh-sh! I've just returned from - er - Scotland. ... Where are the others?" "They've gone to see.... They've gone out," she corrected herself just in time. She noticed that he was wearing a dark suit and a starched collar. If it had not been for his bronzed face there was nothing about him to lead anyone to suppose he had not just returned from a business trip. He looked so very different from when she had seen him last in an open- necked shirt and a pair of old grey flannel trousers. "Have you come back to stay, then?" she asked. "Yes. I suddenly remembered some business I had to do." It struck her as being rather curious that he should come back to transact business late on a Saturday afternoon. "It wasn't the storm then that drove you away?" "Certainly not. The storm was magnificent - simply magnificent and the sea this morning was perfect - warm and rough.... It's a great pity that you don't like swimming when it's rough. You miss a great

deal -Mind, not a word to Peter or Vivien about having seen me down there. We have met for the first time today -" "Naturally," she said. "Didn't I give you my word?... But it's not been easy. I'm very glad you've come back, because I've felt most awkward about it, having a secret like that from the others." "Where have they gone?" "I - I don't know." "You're lying to me." "Well, now you're back they can tell you themselves. It's not for me to give you their news." "The very epitome of discretion, aren't you?" he asked sarcastically, and there was that in his tone which made her think for about the hundredth time, "How I detest this man!" But whether she detested him or not, a cloud had been lifted from her since he had come in. The world seemed a different place, and already, without putting it into so many words, her brain had registered the fact that now that he was home she would see him every day - every single day - for the last week of her visit… "Ah, I think I hear them," he said. "I think I hear the car. Let's go and meet them." She followed him into the hall, and as they got there Peter and Vivien burst in through the front door. Vivien was the first to speak. "Charles!" she exclaimed. "I saw your car outside. So you're back. How lovely!" "You're looking very well," he said. "What have you been doing to yourself since I left you? You look quite different."

"Oh, we'll tell you everything. We've got great news for you.... But you look well, too. You are sunburnt." "Why didn't you let us know you were coming?" Peter asked. "If we'd known we wouldn't have gone out." "Perhaps that is why I didn't let you know," Charles replied. "I had no wish to interfere with your plans.... Well, what's the great news? I gather you're bursting to tell me something." "Hasn't Audrey told you?" Vivien asked. "When could she have told me?" he asked suspiciously. "I don't know. I don't know how long you've been here." "Only a few minutes." "I'm so glad then that we can tell you ourselves." "Let's go into the drawing-room," Peter said. They all went into the drawing-room and there Peter and Vivien between than told him about the house. "I'm very happy for you," he said. "Then you think you'll be able to move out of here in about a month?" The others had sat down, but he was walking up and down the carpet with his hands behind his back. "Yes." "No doubt you'll be very happy to go."

"Oh, it isn't that. It isn't that we haven't been very happy here," Vivien put in quickly, no doubt thinking that they had offended him by their apparent eagerness to leave. "Quite so, quite so," Charles replied. "It's quite unnecessary to say that. I shall be equally glad to get rid of you." "Yes, I'm sure you will," Vivien said, rather hurt herself now. "Don't take him seriously, darling," Peter put in. "Don't you know he's only joking?" It had certainly not occurred to Audrey that he was joking, and she wondered for the first time whether perhaps a lot of the things he said were not meant to be taken as jokes. Well, if they were, he had a very perverted sense of humour. "Peter, I'd like to talk to you a moment or two if you wouldn't mind coming with me into the library," Charles said. "Certainly; Now?" Peter asked in surprise. "Yes. I won't keep you long. ... By the way, have there been any letters for me?" "A whole pile." "Mostly business ones, I suppose?" "Yes, but there was one from Celia which I opened as you told me to open everything." "Quite right. What did she have to say?"

"She wanted to know if she could come and stay, but I wrote back to say you were away and that we didn't know where you were or when you were coming back." "Good. ... And now, Peter, if you'll come with me. ..." "I wonder what he wants," Vivien said, the moment the door had closed behind than. "He seemed very solemn, didn't he? I suppose I ought to know when he is joking - Peter always seems to know - but I find it very difficult. ... I haven't told him yet about The Little Sweep. I don't dare to somehow. He may be furious." "Oh, no," Audrey said. "I'm sure he'll be pleased, if anything." "Well, don't say anything to him about it, but we'll get him to come to the rehearsal somehow tomorrow, and when he sees how sweet the children are I'm sure it will soften his heart." "If he has a heart," Audrey put in.

Audrey could not help feeling curious to know what it was that Charles wanted to speak about to Peter so urgently, but as she could not possibly have her curiosity satisfied on this score, she tried not to wonder about it. Anyway, it was none of her business, but whatever it was she could not help feeling that it must have had something to do with his sudden appearance at the Castle. What could the business have been that had brought him back so unexpectedly? Vivien, knowing probably that Peter would tell her all about it afterwards, did not seem much concerned with it. She was much more troubled with what Charles's reaction to The Little Sweep was going to be and, directly she saw him again, which was not until

dinner-time, she asked him, "Charles, will you please make a point of being in the great hall to-morrow afternoon at three?" "Why?" he asked. "It's a surprise. A secret." "Then I mustn't ask. Very well, I shall be there." "Thank you. You won't forget, will you?" "How could I possibly forget anything so alluringly shrouded in mystery?" The next morning Audrey was to have her curiosity satisfied - and without having to ask any questions. After breakfast she found herself alone with Vivien while the men went out to see something in the garden, and Vivien began at once, "Do you know?" (She never could resist telling Audrey everything.) "Do you know, Charles asked Peter the most extraordinary thing yesterday? You know, after he had just arrived, when he took Peter away into the library saying that he wanted to have a few words with him? Well, do you know what he wanted?" "I haven't the least idea," Audrey replied, trying not to sound curious. "Well, he wanted to know how much this place - the Castle and the estate - really meant to him. He made him promise first of all to give him an honest answer, and then, when he'd promised, he said, 'I want you to tell me truthfully how much this place really means to you. If you suddenly learnt that you weren't going to inherit it, after all, how would you feel about it?' You can imagine Peter's surprise." "And what did Peter say?" Audrey asked.

"He said, 'I wish you hadn't made me promise to tell you the truth,' and Charles said, 'But you have promised. What is the truth?' so Peter had to tell him." "And what was that?" "That if he suddenly learnt that he wasn't going to inherit all this, he would be more relieved than disappointed." "Whatever did Charles say to that?" "He didn't say anything, that's the dreadful part. He just turned his head away without a word, and when he spoke again it was about something else - something totally unimportant. Peter couldn't bear it and said, 'You did ask me for the truth,' and Charles answered, 'Yes, it was the truth I wanted. Don't let's say another word about it,' and Peter thinks he's furious because he looked so terribly grave... But what are you to do if somebody makes you promise to tell them the truth?" Audrey felt very distressed when she heard this because she felt so guilty. It was her doing. It was she who had first put the thought into Charles's head that Peter did not altogether relish the idea of his coming inheritance. She had made mischief between them. It was dreadful. Of all things in the world the idea of making mischief between people was the most repugnant to her. ... How great an importance Charles attached to what she had told him was obvious from the way he had come home to have it out with his brother without any waste of time, for it did seem this was the reason - the only reason - why he had come home so suddenly. "Oh, I dare say it will blow over," Vivien shrugged optimistically. "... It's rather exciting about the rehearsal this afternoon, isn't it? We shall have both Charles and Peter as an audience. I do hope it won't

make the children nervous. It's awfully difficult to sing in tune when you're nervous." Audrey was feeling a bit nervous herself when the time came, although her part in it was but a very minor one. The children arrived at about twenty minutes to three, and Vivien quickly put them through the scenes they were to do that afternoon in front of Charles and Peter. The two men came into the great hall punctually at three o'clock and took the chairs which had been set out for them. Audrey, from her place up in the minstrels' gallery, could look down on them. She knew the music by heart now and seldom had to refer to it so that she was able to keep her eyes on the children and on the audience. Thus it was that she was able to watch Charles's expression most of the time through the performance, and she saw to her consternation that it never for a moment lost its habitual gravity. Wasn't he pleased? Did he think it awful? Was he disapproving of the whole idea? Vivien was too busy to notice the audience. Her entire attention was concentrated on the children, and they certainly performed their parts very creditably. They did three scenes with hardly a mistake and their acting was so good and their piping little voices so sweet and true that Audrey did not see how Charles could fail to be charmed, and yet never for a moment did his stern, proud face relax. "Well, I think that will be enough for this afternoon," Vivien said at last, upon which Peter and Charles both clapped heartily, but that was the least they could do. Audrey came down from the minstrels' gallery and she and Vivien said a few words of encouragement to the children before dismissing them. They were to come again next morning at ten. Charles and Peter had left the great hall, and now Vivien and

Audrey went in search of them and found them walking up and down on the terrace. "Well," Vivien exclaimed excitedly, "what did you think of it?" Charles turned round, and it seemed to Audrey that his face was black like a thundercloud. "Whose idea was it in the first place?" he asked. Audrey, anxious to protect Vivien and take whatever blame there was to herself, replied immediately, "It was entirely my idea." "I might have known it," Charles said almost under his breath. "I congratulate you both," he went on, "I have never seen a performance which delighted me so much. I don't know who deserves the most credit - you two or the children themselves. ... It's a grand thing you're doing, Vivien. ... And as for you, Audrey.... Well, I can only say thank you." This praise from him was so completely unexpected that Audrey was rendered quite speechless for the moment. If she had known that he was going to praise, not for anything in the world would she have taken the credit for the idea to herself, but she had been so certain that he was going to carp. .... He really was the most perverse and unaccountable man! "I've been talking to Peter about our badger hunt," he said with a sudden change of subject. "We've decided to have it on Wednesday - so you'll still be here to take part in it, Audrey.... I think you'll enjoy it." "Hunt?" Audrey exclaimed in consternation. "But you know I don't ride."

Charles laughed derisively. "Explain to her what a badger hunt is," he said to Peter. "I must be off. I shall see you all later," and he turned abruptly and went indoors. Peter had taken Vivien's arm. "You've certainly had a success, darling," he said. "I've never seen Charles so enthusiastic about anything as he was about your opera. ... And I must say it was delicious." "Oh, I'm so glad you liked it, and that Charles liked it, too. It makes it all seem worth while. But it's all due to Audrey." "Nonsense," Audrey put in quickly. "The idea was nothing. Anybody might have had the idea, but it was you who made it practicable. It's you who've done all the work.... I would never have said like that that it was my idea, Peter, if I hadn't somehow got the impression that your brother was displeased. I thought he was angry." "I understand exactly how you felt," Peter replied kindly. "It's difficult to tell with him, isn't it? I never know myself so I'm not surprised that you can't tell when he's angry or not He's not an easy person to understand. I'll grant you that Sometimes when he looks his fiercest he's most pleased. It's very difficult." "It is, indeed," Audrey said. "But do tell me now about the badger hunt What is it exactly?" "Well, we have one every year. It's a sort of joke - it's not a real badger hunt, of course. You get a few friends and dogs together and go chasing over the country. ..." "On horses?" "Oh, dear me, no, on foot... after a badger's trail which has been laid a couple of days before. I'll probably lay it myself this evening. It's a

sort of drag really, but the fun of it is that the meet takes place at ten o'clock at night, and you all go off in the dark with lanterns and stay out most of the night There would be nothing to it if it took place in the day time." "It sounds rather fun," Audrey said. "I'm longing for it," Vivien put in. "I've heard all about it, but I was afraid it wouldn't happen until after you'd gone because we couldn't have it without Charles." "Why not?" Audrey asked. Peter looked at her for a moment, as if she had uttered the most terrible blasphemy. "It would be just unthinkable to have it without Charles," he replied in a scandalized tone. Audrey said no more. As a matter of fact her mind was not on the badger hunt It was on Charles, and she was fuming with rage against him. It was so like him to have put her in a position of boasting when all she had meant to do was to defend Vivien against his criticism. It really was infuriating!

CHAPTER NINE IT was just the right kind of night for the hunt. It was fine and there was a bit of moon - not enough to dispel the illusion of complete darkness, but enough to render the Vault of the sky slightly luminous. It was necessary to carry lanterns and yet light enough not to have to depend on them entirely. Vivien was wearing Peter's breeches caught up at the knees and hitched round the waist in an endeavour to make them stay on, and an old leather jerkin of his which came down to her hips; while Audrey had on a pair of Celia's skiing trousers which had been long ago discarded by her, and a white roll- necked sweater of Charles's which came down almost to her knees. When they saw the other guests assembled in the great hall where the meet was taking place, their own clothes looked almost conventional in comparison. Audrey had never seen such a hotchpotch of people collected in one room. All the neighbouring farmers and squires had turned up, some of them with their wives or daughters and all of them with their dogs, making a party of about thirty, and they were all dressed as bizarrely as possible. It seemed to be the thing to put on your oddest, oldest and most ill-fitting garments. Charles himself was wearing a battered straw hat with a feather in it - the sort of hat worn by the village idiots in a musical comedy - over a suit of corduroys, a scarlet waistcoat and an emerald green silk handkerchief knotted round his throat He looked intensely picturesque and incredibly handsome. Audrey found it difficult to keep her eyes off him. She was entering into the spirit of the thing now. The dogs were really no less peculiar than the hats. There were two or three very old foxhounds with bloodshot eyes, but for the rest they were a collection of mongrels of all shapes, sizes and colours, well matching the nondescript costume of their masters.

Audrey's spirits began to rise. This was fun - real fun - and all the more fun for being quite unlike anything she had ever experienced before. There was such an atmosphere of gaiety. Even Charles looked almost happy. He looked as he had looked at the children's party that Christmas afternoon. He was in his element, that was very obvious. This was the kind of thing he enjoyed - a gathering after his own heart. Charles called out, and the whole harlequinade trooped out into the hall where the lighted lanterns were ready for them, and so out into the night… "Hold on to me, Viv," Peter said to Vivien as she snatched up a lantern. "Whatever you do don't lose me." Audrey was wondering what she ought to do at this point when suddenly she found Charles beside her. "You come with me, Audrey," he said. "Every woman has to go with a man. There aren't enough lanterns for the ladies. ... Come along. Hang on to me. Don't lose me." Audrey took him at his word and took hold of the bottom of his corduroy jacket, and followed him out into the darkness. The bobbing lanterns moved off towards a certain point. Audrey had no idea in what direction they were going, and could only follow blindly, still holding fast to Charles's jacket. They must have walked for about five minutes when suddenly one of the hounds gave tongue, and immediately all the other dogs started to bark in frenzied excitement. With cat-calls and whoops of joy and cries of "They're off, they're off!" the lanterns began to move swiftly. "We're off!" Charles shouted. "Here, give me your hand and run." Audrey ran - ran as she had never run in her life before. She stumbled and fell and picked herself up, or was dragged up by Charles, and went on again, only to stumble again and pick herself

up once more and go on and on and on until she was panting for breath. She remembered clambering over gates and scrambling through hedges and bumping into trees - running and stumbling, running and stumbling. It was a wild, mad chase, but oh, the fun of it - the exhilaration of it. Exhausted as she was she never wanted it to end. Charles's hand was there all the time, to guide her, to steady ha, to pull her up and to pull her away from danger, and occasionally to pull her faster than she was able to go. It was when he was pulling her thus that she caught her foot in a hole in the ground and fell - fell heavily - twisting her ankle most agonizingly beneath her. Charles helped her up and she tried to go on but had to stop, crying out with pain. "I suppose you've twisted your ankle," he said, stopping beside her, panting loudly. "Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm so sorry." "Oh, we always have a few sprained ankles," he said indifferently. "That's nothing - as long as it isn't too painful, that is." "No, it's only that I can't walk on it At least I might be able to walk, but I can't run." "We'll wait here," he said. "The hunt always comes back this way to pick up the casualties. We'll give you a bandy chair to the road where the car will be waiting for us." "I'm so sorry to be such a nuisance," she said; "but please don't you wait for me. I shall be quite all right here. I'll wait till the hunt comes back." "That's all right," he said roughly. "Let's sit down." "No, please leave me," she protested. "I'm spoiling all your fun."

"Don't be silly," he said. "Sit down. ... Come, I'll help you to that tree. We'll sit on that bank. It's a good place." "Please…" she started to say again. "Be quiet." He took her by the arm and helped her over to the tree. She found that she could walk quite well though the ankle was very painful if she moved it at all. "I don't think it's very bad," she said. "Good. I'm glad to hear that Let's sit down here.... Are you cold?" "Oh, no, I'm boiling. ... It was such fun. I was enjoying it so. It's so stupid of me to go and do this...." "It's bad luck," he said, "but you went very well." "I'm spoiling all your fun," she said again. "I wish you wouldn't wait with me. I shall be quite all right here alone." "Don't go on like that," he said. "Anyway, you're not spoiling my fun. It's the meet and the first run I enjoy. After that something always happens - it's part of the game. Either you twist an ankle, or get a stitch, or your light goes out. Somebody's always a casualty of some sort by this time." "I suppose that's part of the fun?" she suggested. "Yes, that and being out at night. That's the real point of it - the excuse to be out after dark." "But you can do that any night if you want to." "Yes, but one never does, does one? ... Look at those stars. What a glorious night it is." He had rolled over on to his stomach as he was speaking and she did likewise so that now they were lying side by side.

"Listen to the night," he said. "Be quite quiet and listen to the night" Silence fell between them, and Audrey opened her ears to all the wondrous sounds of the night. It was a silent night and yet that very silence was made up of numerous tiny sounds just as the smoothness of the sand is made up of thousands of little rough particles. She was lying on her face again now, and Charles, also lying on his face with his hands under his chin, was not more than a foot away from her. She did not know at what moment it was that she became conscious of his nearness, his magnetism, but suddenly all at once it was present with her like an ova- whelming electrical force drawing her towards him. She did not stir a muscle, but her whole being yearned to move closer to him, to touch him, to lie against his side and encounter the living warmth of his body. She lay quite still for some moments, and then slowly she turned her head and looked at him, and discovered that his head was turned towards her and that his eyes, wide open, were fixed upon her. His eyes found hers and held them, and for a long time they remained like that without moving or speaking while the electrical atmosphere all round them seemed to become more and more charged so that she felt she would not be able to bear it a moment longer; something must break; something must happen., She did not know whether it was with intense relief or with intense disappointment that she suddenly heard the hunt coming back. She believed they had come in the nick of time, they had saved her - but from what? Was it perhaps from making a fool of herself? Would she, if she had been left another moment, have stretched out her hand to him and touched his cheek? Would she have been able to help herself? ... Could he himself be unaware of the tension which had grown up within her? Surely not. It was so terrific that he must have felt it, he must have been affected by it too.... But, no, it was idiotic to suppose so. It was something which had happened entirely

within herself and there was nothing in the world to lead her to suppose that he had felt anything of the kind himself. "They're coming back," he exclaimed, springing to his feet. "We mustn't let than miss us. ... Here, let me give you a hand up." He stretched out his hand and she took it and he pulled her to her feet. "Lean on me," he said, "and try not to use that ankle. ... Whoo hoo!" he shouted out. The lanterns made a pretty picture as they came towards them, bobbing and dipping like so many giant fireflies. Audrey hobbled along beside Charles, leaning heavily on his arm, and they stood in the path of the returning huntsmen. "Peter," Charles called out. "Peter, are you there?..." But there was no reply from Peter. "Who's that?" Charles inquired. "Is that you, Sandy? Good lad! I want your help to get this lady back to the road. She's sprained her ankle." Sandy turned out to be one of the young farmers and he readily assisted Charles in making a bandy chair, and Audrey sat very comfortably on their entwined hands with an arm round the neck of each, and was thus carried to the road where she found the car waiting for them. Charles had thoughtfully given instructions to his chauffeur to meet them there. When they got back to the Castle, Audrey found that she was not the only casualty. Vivien had also sprained her ankle and it was a Very much more severe sprain than Audrey's. Dr. Clarke, who had been at the hunt, was in the process of bandaging it as they got in. It seemed that Vivien had sprained it almost as soon as they started, and Peter had been able to carry her home. There was hot soup and beer waiting for everybody in the great hall, and Audrey found this refreshment very welcome while she was waiting for her turn with the doctor. Her ankle, it turned out, was not

very bad and the doctor predicted that it would be quite all right in the morning if she went to bed with a cold compress on it. "We are a couple of crocks," she said laughingly to Vivien. Vivien pulled a long face. "The doctor says I've got to stay in bed to-morrow. What will happen to my opera?" "Don't worry about that now," Audrey said soothingly. "It may be quite all right in the morning. Doctors aren't infallible, you know." "Well, to bed with you both right away," Charles said. He had come in while Audrey was making this last remark. "You'll both be carried upstairs and you'll damn well stay there till you're told you can come down again, do you understand?" Audrey looked at him quickly to see whether he was laughing, but his face was serious. "Peter, take Vivien up to bed," he commanded, "and let's have no more nonsense. She's to stay in bed till the doctor tells her she can get up. ... And that goes for you, too, Audrey." "But the doctor never told me I must stay in bed," Audrey protested. "On the contrary, he said I should be quite all right in the morning if I put a cold compress' on my ankle tonight." "Then see to it that you do put a cold compress on your ankle tonight... or at least for as much as is left of the night. It's nearly three o'clock. You can sleep all to-morrow till you ring. ... Now have you got everything, Audrey, because I'm taking you up to bed?" and without more ado, and despite Audrey's protests, he picked her up as if she had been a sack of potatoes and carried her upstairs and did not put her down until he had dumped her on her bed. "There," he said. "Now good night and go to sleep," and he stalked out of the room without another word.

There had been nothing in the least romantic in the way he had carried her upstairs. Indeed, so little romantic had it been that after he left her she found herself wondering whether this really could be the same man beside whom she had so recently lain out under the stars, the same man who had quoted poetry to her and to whom she had been so irresistibly drawn. ... But that was like Charles; the moment you felt a little nearer to him he withdrew - almost as if he were afraid of getting too close to anybody.

The whole household slept late the next morning. Audrey herself slept until eleven, and when she woke was rejoiced to find that the swelling of her ankle had quite gone down. It was still a little stiff it hurt her if she tried to move it from one side to the other - but she could walk on it perfectly comfortably. As soon as she was up and dressed she went along to see how Vivien was, and found her in very poor shape. Her ankle was enormously swollen and the bruise had come out, turning it an ugly purply red. She was in a despairing mood. "What about my opera?" she demanded. "The children will be here this afternoon. What am I to do?" "I'll take them through their parts for you if you like," Audrey said. "Oh, will you? Do be an angel and do that? ... But what am I to do when you go away? Who's going to play for us?" "That's got nothing to do with your ankle," Audrey replied. "You would have to have faced that anyway. I'm sure you'll be able to find someone in the village to play for you occasionally, and remember, the children will soon be going back to school and then they won't be able to give you so much time. ... If I were you I'd go and see Miss Barrat as soon as she gets back. Perhaps she would play for

you, or if not I'm sure she'll know someone who can." Miss Barrat was the schoolteacher. By lunch-time everything was arranged satisfactorily - principally through Charles's good offices, for it was he who suggested that the rehearsal that afternoon should take place in his sitting-room. Vivien could lie on the sofa in there and direct operations while Audrey played his piano. Vivien be- ' came quite herself again when this plan was put into operation. Meanwhile a telegram was brought in to Peter while they were .having lunch. "It's from Celia," he said as he opened it. "What has she got to say?" Charles asked. "She's arriving on Saturday." "But I thought..." Charles began. "Yes, I told her you were away," Peter said, "but naturally I had to say we should be delighted to see her any time if she cared to come, but it never occurred to me for a moment she would come when you weren't here." "Is she coming by night or day?" Charles asked. "By day. She's arriving Saturday evening." "Well, don't forget to send the car to meet her," was all Charles said, and it was impossible to tell from his voice or his expression what he felt about her coming, although Audrey was watching him closely. "I wonder if Celia knows that Charles has come back," Vivien said later to Audrey. "I'm sure she wouldn't come if she didn't know he

was here, but who could have told her he was back? ... Perhaps she's got her spies in the village." "What a dreadful idea!" Audrey exclaimed, really shocked. "I don't know," Vivien said. "I don't think I'd put anything past her, and I don't altogether blame her. It must be hell to be hopelessly in love." Audrey agreed to this with all her heart, but yet she could not believe that however much in love she was herself she would stoop to spying on the beloved, and because she would not be capable of it herself, she did not believe that Celia was capable of it.

She was strolling round the garden before dinner that evening when Charles suddenly came upon her in one of the great yew alleys which were such a feature of the place. "Ah, Audrey," he greeted her. 'I'm glad I've found you alone. I wanted a word with you." He fell into step beside her and they walked along slowly. "What I wanted to ask you," he began directly, "was whether you could possibly stay on here a little longer?" "Thank you very much for thinking of it," Audrey replied, "but I'm afraid I shall have to get back. One of my colleagues is waiting to go on holiday till I return and work will be piling up...." "I meant of course for Vivien's sake," he said, thus destroying any suggestion of personal flattery which she might have read into his invitation. "Naturally," she replied quickly. "I'm Vivien's guest."

"It's impossible not to notice the change in Vivien since you've been here," he went on. "You've done wonders for her -wonders." "I've done nothing," she replied quickly. "She's done it all herself." "Nonsense," he replied, "it was entirely your idea. You've given her an interest in the place - an interest in her life up here. She's become really interested in those children - one can see that - and through them she will eventually get to know their parents. It's a beginning a very good beginning -and it is all due to you." "The opera was entirely Vivien's idea," Audrey replied. "I merely suggested that she should get up a play of some kind." "You can't deceive me, Audrey," he replied coldly. "I know what Vivien was like when I went away and I know what she's like now and it's been your doing, so we will say no more on the subject. I've asked you to stay on a little longer, for her sake and for Peter's; but you say you can't, so that's that." "I'm sorry," she said. "I should have liked to very much, not only for their sakes but for my own, but I'm afraid it's quite out of the question." He inclined his head in acquiescence but said no more, and presently they returned to the house, Audrey feeling very strongly that somehow or other she had managed to annoy him. Was it because she had not fallen in with his wishes and he was unused to having his requests refused? Yes, that was probably it. He was so spoilt that he was accustomed to having his slightest whim treated as law. Well, it would do him good. She was very glad that it was quite impossible for her to stay on. It would let him see that she at least wasn't in his power. She felt quite elated at her own independence.

CHAPTER TEN AUDREY had to own to herself that she was dreading Celia's coming. She did not know why it was that she minded seeing her so much, but that she did mind it was a fact, and she couldn't help herself. They were all in the drawing-room on Saturday evening when she arrived, so Audrey was able to witness the meeting between her and Charles. She gave a start of surprise when she saw him. "You!" she exclaimed. "Why, I never expected to find you here. I thought you were in Scotland. Peter wrote and told me so, didn't you, Peter?" "I did, and he was away when I wrote to you, but he came back unexpectedly without letting any of us know the very next evening." "Well, it's a very nice surprise." Audrey could not help getting the feeling that she was acting a carefully rehearsed part - that she was not indeed surprised that Charles was there - that she had known that he was going to be there all the time and was only pretending. Perhaps she was being unjust to her in this, but the feeling she had that she was merely acting was very strong indeed, and the impression was confirmed by the start Celia gave when she saw Audrey herself. In this case she was genuinely surprised. She could have had no idea that Audrey was going to be there, and the emotion she showed was very different from what she had evinced on seeing Charles, for now she not only started but changed colour arid became confused. She made quite a point of being polite, however, and when she had ascertained that Audrey was leaving next day she became most affable and even expressed a wish that she was staying longer. At dinner she was happy and amusing. She certainly had made the best of herself that evening. She was wearing a very pretty new

dress, her hair had been beautifully done and her, face was full of animation and sparkle. Audrey noticed that Charles was looking at her continually and she felt a bitter pang of jealousy for which she despised herself heartily, but despising herself for it did not make it any better. It was a lovely evening, and after dinner Celia and Charles strolled out on to the terrace. Vivien could not go out on account of her ankle and Peter and Audrey stayed with her. Audrey found herself glancing more often than she liked towards the french windows through which she could see Celia and Charles's silhouettes, walking up and down, and keeping them thus in view gave her a measure of comfort, but suddenly they disappeared, and she knew that they must have wandered off into the garden, and the most painful agitation took possession of her. Vivien began to yawn and Peter suggested that he should take her up to bed. "Yes, I am tired," she said. "Are you coming up, Audrey?" and there didn't seem to be anything for Audrey to do but to comply. She said good night to Vivien and Peter at the top of the landing and then went disconsolately to her room, but she did not go to bed. She sat at her window looking out at the garden, hoping to see them returning to the house. The stars were brilliant in the sky and she thought miserably of that night, such a short time ago, when Charles and she had been lying out together on a grassy bank under these very same stars. Delicious scents of the garden - the sweet smell of hay predominating - came in through the window and she found it almost intolerable to be sitting there alone while he was wandering in the darkness with another woman. It was a night for love - a night created for love and she felt alone and lonely and achingly desolate.

Suddenly she put her face in her hands as a terrible realization came home to her. "My God, I love him," she thought. "Dear God, I am in love with him. What on earth am I to do?" She sprang up wildly. "I can't stay here," she thought. "I can't stay here. I mustn't stay here. I must go now. I won't stay here another moment." She drew her suitcase out from under her bed and began to pack in a kind of frenzy, but just then she heard voices outside in the garden and quickly switching out her light she ran to the window. ... Yes, they were out there - out there somewhere in the garden. She could hear their voices, though she could not hear what they were saying, nor could she see them. She waited, watching, held tense with expectancy. ... Yes, now she saw the light from a cigarette two lights from two cigarettes - and their voices grew nearer until presently they emerged into the circle of radiance cast by the light flowing out from the drawing-room windows. They were walking slowly, arm-in-arm, very close together, and deep in conversation. She drew back quickly. She did not want to hear what they were saying. She was not an eavesdropper, but in spite of herself she could not help overhearing some words of his just as he passed in through the french windows. "I'm so happy, dearest," he said, and there was a gentleness in his voice which she had never heard there before.

Celia was in bed all the next day with a headache, so Audrey, to her infinite relief, did not see her again before she left. Her feelings all that last day were so mixed and so agitated that she hardly knew herself, but the desire to escape predominated over everything. She must get away - that was her main idea. She must get away. She

could hardly wait for the time when the car had been ordered to take her to the station. She saw very little of Charles. It almost seemed to her that he was avoiding her, but this impression might of course be only her imagination. When she did see him she could not help looking anxiously into his face in the hope of being able to read there what it was that had made him so happy the evening before. It was obvious that some understanding had taken place between him and Celia, but of the nature of that understanding she could not be certain though it was easy to guess. All day she expected to hear the announcement of his engagement to Celia. There could be no other explanation of it. Oh, if only she could get away; if only she could get away! She wanted to creep into a corner and die, but as she had to go on living the only alternative was to get away by herself and not have to make this awful effort to be cheerful and natural when all the time she felt as if her heart were breaking. Half an hour before she was due to leave she went upstairs to put the last things in her suitcase. When she came down again she found Charles at the bottom of the stairs. "Ah, Audrey," he said, "I'm going to say good-bye, because I have to go out. Peter is taking you to the station, isn't he?" "Yes." "Well, good-bye, then," and he held out his hand. They shook hands and he turned and left her swiftly, and the thought flashed through her brain. "This is the last time I shall ever see him," and she felt quite sick with the misery of it. She went into the drawing-room to say good-bye to Vivien who was still obliged to lie upon the sofa on account of her ankle. They took

a tender farewell of each other, and then Peter came in and told her the car was at the door. "There's only one thing for it," she told herself severely, as she sat in the train. "I've got to forget him. I've just got to forget him, and when once I've forgotten him and got over it, not for anything in the world must I be tempted to go up there again.... It's quite easy. You can get over anything if you've enough strength of mind. It's perfectly easy: just don't think about him," and she opened a book and started to read. But she did not take in a word: Charles's face the whole idea of Charles - came between her and the printed page. After a little while she gave up trying to read and allowed the book to fall on to her lap, and gave herself up entirely to the thought of him. She went over again in imagination those wonderful moments which they had spent together lying under the stars when he had seemed so close, when all his severity and cynicism had fallen away from him, and he had appeared to her as the spirit of romance incarnate, drawing towards himself the very soul of her womanhood. So deep was she in thought that it came as a surprise to find that the train had stopped and they had reached Newcastle. She changed into the sleeper as if she were walking in a dream, and automatically undressed and climbed into her bunk, and immediately began thinking of Charles again. "Oh, dear," she cried inwardly, tossing from side to side, "this isn't the way to forget him. This is indulging in the very thing I told myself that I mustn't do -But just for tonight," another voice whispered to her, "- just for tonight let me think about him. To-morrow I start work again; to-morrow I have to take up the threads of my old life. Let me keep him in my heart just for tonight." So for that night she allowed herself to think about him without struggling against it, but she promised herself that tomorrow she would dismiss him entirely.

CHAPTER ELEVEN SHE certainly tried to keep her word to herself. She was fortunate in that outside help came to her just then at the moment when she needed it most. She was given carte blanche to do up a large house which had recently been converted into five flats, and she was also commissioned to Supply all the furniture and fittings, for the flats were to be let furnished. This was a task after her own heart and absorbed all her energies during the day, and when she left work she saw to it that she had some kind of engagement every evening, and also made plans to keep herself occupied during the weekends. She had been back in London for about a fortnight and was really beginning to feel that she was getting the better of herself when the most unexpected person rang her up at her office one morning. It was Celia - and Celia with almost a purr in her voice. "Could I speak to Miss Lawrence, please?" she asked. "It's Miss Lawrence speaking." Audrey happened to have answered the telephone herself. "Oh, this is Celia Pendleton speaking. ... I should so like to see you if I can some time. I wonder if you could possibly lunch with me today?" "No; I'm very sorry, I'm engaged for lunch today. Is there anything I am do for you?" She had rather naturally jumped to the conclusion that Celia must want to see her professionally. "Would you care to come round here to my office?" "Oh, no, I'd much rather you came and lunched with me. You see, it's rather a personal matter and it's always so much easier to talk

over a meal, don't you think? Are you free this evening by any chance?" "No, I'm afraid I'm dining out this evening." "Well, what day are you free for lunch?" "In for a penny, in for a pound," Audrey thought. She might as well get it over as soon as possible. "Well, what about tomorrow?" she said. "That will do splendidly, At one o'clock at Claridge's? That will be lovely. I so much look forward to seeing you. Until tomorrow then. Good-bye." Audrey cut off feeling that all her hard-earned peace of mind had been disturbed. What on earth could Celia want to see her about? She hadn't wanted to lunch with her, but now that she was going to she did not know how to wait until to-morrow to find out what it was all about. "Oh, dear," she thought to herself. "Oh, dear, why did this have to happen? ... I'm sure it will be something to do with him. I don't want to hear about him. I don't want to talk about him, but if it isn't him what on earth can it be that she wants to see me about?" There was no way of telling. She would have to wait until tomorrow and contain herself in patience as best she could. She was in a state of terrible agitation by the time she arrived at Claridge's next day. Celia was waiting for her and greeted her most cordially. "Let's have a drink before going in to lunch, shall we?" she asked. "What would you like? How about a Martini?" Audrey got the impression that she was certainly very pleasant.

It was only after they had ordered their lunch, and the first course had been brought to them, that Celia began, "And now I must tell you what I wanted to see you about." Audrey clenched her hands and set her teeth and waited for what was coming. "You're going to think it rather odd that I should speak to you about this," Celia went on. "I don't suppose you've forgiven me yet for the way I behaved towards you when we first met...." Audrey murmured something about there being nothing to forgive, and Celia continued, "You See, when I first met you I didn't know you, and you struck me as being so terribly conceited. ... Oh, please don't be offended by my saying that. It's much better to be frank, don't you think? I thought you'd come up there despising us all despising me particularly because I was one of those idle rich girls, though I'm anything but rich, you know, though I'm very idle, I agree, whereas you were one of the world's workers. ..." "I can't think how you got that impression," Audrey replied. "You're quite wrong. I never thought any such thing." "Oh, I know that now, but I'm only trying to explain to you why it was that I was so unpleasant. .And now for the real point about what I want to say. ... It's about my cousin Charles." Audrey clenched her hands until the knuckles stood out white. "Now I'm for it," she thought. "Rather a strange thing has happened," Celia went on. "I don't know whether Vivien told you anything about it, but it seems that Charles discovered - it must have been while you were, up there - that Peter isn't at all looking forward to inheriting Coburn - in fact he would much rather not inherit it. I don't know how Charles came to discover this - I think Peter must have been absolutely mad to have

told him, knowing what Charles feels about the place - but discover it he did, and he's absolutely furious about it. It may be difficult for you to understand what Charles feels about this, but you see he's brought Peter up with that end, and that end only, in view. It's always been understood, ever since Peter was a little boy, that Charles would never marry and that Coburn would be his when Charles died - and now suddenly he goes and tells Charles that he would much rather not have it, so Charles's attitude now in his anger is, 'Very well, then you shan't have it. I'm damned if you'll have it. I'll marry just to spite you and then you'll be sorry when I have children and you find you're cut out of the inheritance.' You don't know what Charles can be like when he's angry...." "This is all very interesting," Audrey found herself saying, "but I can't see why you're telling it all to me. I don't see what concern it is of mine. It's entirely a family matter." "Oh, I'm coming to that. I just had to explain first all the circumstances. ... Well, as I said, Charles is determined now to get married - only to spite Peter, it's true - but still determined - and naturally the first person he picked cm was me. Audrey bit her lip almost till the blood came. "And you're going to marry him?" she asked in a low voice. "Goodness gracious, no. Catch me! I'm fond of Charles because I've known him all my life and he's devoted to me. I'm the only girl he's ever been fond of. He adored me even as a child, but as for marrying him! I don't think you can imagine what it would be like to be married to him. It would be hell, sheer hell. He's cruel - abominably cruel - selfish, arrogant, overbearing. His wife would just be a slave. With all the material advantages, do you think it would be worth marrying a man who would make one so miserable? Do you?"

"No, certainly not, if he's really like what to you say he is and only thinking of marriage in order to spite Peter." "There you are!" Celia cried triumphantly. "That's what I say. So you're not surprised at my refusing him?" "Not at all. But I still don't see how I'm concerned in all this." "I'll tell you. You're concerned in it because you're the next on his list." "Me?" Audrey exclaimed incredulously, feeling the blood rushing to her head. "Yes, you. After all, it's not very surprising. He probably knows you as well as any other girl. He has always avoided women and has awfully few women friends.... I felt it only fair to warn you because when he proposes he'll probably sound very plausible - he may even tell you that he loves you and make you believe it. But the whole thing will be a lie - a sham. He no more loves you than he loves ... Well, he no more loves you than he loves any other woman except me. Yes, I feel it's only fair to warn you, especially after the way I misjudged you when I first met you. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Refuse him or you'll be miserable for the rest of your life." "I'm sure it is the most unlikely thing in the world that Mr. Pendleton will ask me to marry him," Audrey said. "Oh, yes. He will propose to you, you mark my words, and he'll be very plausible, but he doesn't love you - he doesn't love you one little scrap, I happen to know that, and he'll make your life a hell. ... He'll get the shock of his life, too, when you do refuse him because he's perfectly confident that he only has to say a word and you'll fall straight into his arms. He hasn't the slightest doubt of you. He thinks you're crazy to marry him."

"Oh, does he?" Audrey replied, setting her lips. "And what's given him that impression, I should like to know?" "I don't know. All I know is that when I refused him he said, 'Oh, well, it will have to be Audrey Lawrence. She'll have me all right,' and there was a most contemptuous, sneering look on his face as he said it." It can be imagined with what mixed feelings Audrey parted from Celia that afternoon. The feeling uppermost in her was one of burning indignation. That Charles should have dared to say that about her! But then suddenly she remembered again those words of his she had overheard in the garden that night - "Dearest, you've made me so happy" - and the gentleness of the tone in which they had been uttered, and she felt deeply puzzled. To what could those words have referred? What could Celia have said to have made him so happy? Surely that was not what any man would have said to a woman after she had refused him? It was all horribly puzzling. It was difficult for her to think of anything else for the rest of the day, and even during the night it kept waking her up so that she slept badly and woke in the morning with a headache. It was a bit hard that this should have cropped up just as she was beginning to forget him, and she cursed Celia. But there was nothing for it - she couldn't get it out of her mind - and went over every aspect of it, examining every possibility, except the possibility that she would accept him, if he really did propose to her. All the same, she never really believed that she would hear from him, and it was a great shock therefore when she got to the office next morning to be told that Mr. Pendleton had rung her up and would ring again. "It must be Peter," she thought, but the fierce beating of her heart belied her words. She tried to settle to her work, but felt too light-headed and confused, and found herself straining her ears for the telephone.

It rang at last and it was he. "Is that Audrey Lawrence?" he asked. "This is Charles Pendleton speaking. ... I find I have to be in London for a few days - I arrived by sleeper this morning - and I remember you saying to me at the wedding that you would take pity on me one day. You know what I feel about London. Would you do me the great kindness of having dinner with me this evening?" What should she say? She had been trying to make up her mind on that question all night, and had come more or less to the conclusion that the best thing to do, if he should happen to ring her up, would be to refuse to see him altogether, but now she felt as if her inside had been turned to water, and her brain to cotton wool, and she found herself answering weakly, "Yes, I should like to very much." "Splendid." His voice sounded full of relief and exhilaration. "Where would you like to go? I'm a stranger here and don't know any of the places." "What sort of place would you like?" "Somewhere quiet where we can get decent food." "There's a little place called Philippe's where the food is quite good..." she suggested. "Perfect. Is it in the phone book? Good. I'll book a table there, then. At eight o'clock, would that suit you? ... May I come and pick you up somewhere?" - "Oh, don't bother, I'll meet you there." "It's no bother at all. Where will you be?" "At my flat." "What's the address?" She told him.

"Good, I'll pick you up there at half-past seven, then." "But please don't bother," she began to protest again. But with, "I tell you it's no bother at all," he cut off without even saying good-bye. Audrey was left in a fever. It seemed as if Celia was right and that he was going to propose to her, and here she was already making it as easy for him as possible. She ought to have refused to go out with him. Of course she ought to have refused. She would refuse now but where could she get hold of him? ... No, perhaps it was better to see him; then, if he really did ask her to marry him, she could make her refusal unequivocal. Nevertheless she left the office early that evening and on her way home bought some chrysanthemums off a barrow with which to brighten up her flat. She could not help wanting him to see her and her surroundings to their best advantage, and after arranging the flowers and tidying up the sitting-room she dressed herself very carefully and did her hair and her face with equal care. She put on a dress which Charles had never seen before. It was, in fact, her favourite dress - a dress she had always been happy in and in which she felt her best, and in which, therefore, she had always had a success. When she was dressed she got out two glasses and a bottle of sherry, and then sat down to wait for him as calmly as she could. It was just before half-past that she heard a ring at the bell and when she went to answer it she found him standing there. She led him into the sitting-room. "What a delightful flat you've got here," he said, going over to the window. "Being so high up you get a wonderful view."

"And all the sun that's going," she replied. "Will you have some sherry?" She started to pour out a glass, but found that her hand was shaking so much that she was spilling it, so she put her back between him and the decanter so that if he happened to be looking in her direction he would not see that she was trembling. "How is Vivien?" she asked. "Ah, Vivien, Vivien. Vivien is very well, I think. Yes, Vivien is very well. She sent you her love. No, as a matter of fact, that isn't true, because she didn't know I was going to see you. But she's very well, and so is Peter. They're getting very excited at the thought of moving into their new house." He had crossed to the other side of the room now and was looking at the other print with his back turned to her. "I do wish he'd keep still," she thought. "He isn't at all like himself. Whatever is the matter with him? I've never seen him restless like this before. He's usually so calm. I suppose it's London.... But he's being very polite. He hasn't sneered once. I've never known him so nice and polite, but I like his old self better. I trust it more somehow. I'm more used to it" He wait over to the window again and there was silence between them for a few moments. Suddenly, abruptly, he turned towards her - his lips opened, he was about to speak. "Now, it's coming," flashed through her mind, and instinctively she braced herself. "Audrey," he began, and she held her breath. "I think we ought to be going if we're to get to the restaurant by eight o'clock." The anti-climax was complete, and somehow it took away her nervousness. "I'll just get my coat," she said.

When she came back with her coat on, he was in the hall with the door open, and they went out together, she locking the door behind her. She rang for the lift and they waited there in silence on the landing till it came up. It was a very small lift and a very slow one. She stepped in in front of him and he followed her and closed the gates. He was next to the push buttons and the light switch, so it was he who pressed the button marked G. They began to go down when quite suddenly, between two floors, the lift stopped and the light went out, leaving them in total darkness. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed, "it's broken down and now we're stuck. I've always been afraid of this happening. ... Have you got a lighter? Let me see if I can do anything by pressing the buttons," and she leant across him to feel for the switches in the dark. At that moment her whole heart and soul were concentrated on their predicament so that what happened next came as the most complete surprise to her. "This darkness is heaven-sent," he said suddenly in a thick voice - a voice quite different from any she had heard him use before. She felt his breath on her cheek and then his hands were on her shoulders and words were pouring from his lips: "Audrey, I love you. I've wanted to tell you that so badly, but I didn't have the courage in the daylight. I love you, I worship you; you're my light, my love. ... Oh, tell me I have a chance. Tell me you love me a little too. ... Dearest, beloved, tell me; don't keep me in suspense." His grip oil her shoulders had tightened so that his fingers were digging into her. "You're hurting me!" she cried weakly. He relaxed his grasp, and his hands slid down her arms and found her hands. "Audrey?" he whispered, and the one word had in it a most humble entreaty. In that moment, entirely forgetful of Celia's warning, she leaned towards him, and he, feeling her yielding, seized her in his arms, and began to kiss her passionately - her cheeks, her eyes, her lips, her hair.

Just then there were angry cries from downstairs. "Lift - lift! Somebody's left the gate open ... Lift... Damn! We shall have to walk up." Charles put a hand out behind him and pressed the top button and they went up again to Audrey's floor. "You did it on purpose," she accused him breathlessly as he opened the gates and led her out, not letting go his hold on her for a moment. "Of course," he replied gleefully. They went back into her flat, and this time all his reserved politeness had gone. He threw his coat across the room and pulled her down into a chair beside him and began to kiss her again. She struggled a little, for she had remembered Celia's warning now, but he would not let her go, nor indeed could she believe that he was putting on an act of pretending to love her. After a little while she struggled no more - she thought no more - but abandoned herself to the rapture of the moment. At last he stopped kissing her, but he still held her close against him. "Oh, I've wanted to do that for so long," he murmured, sighing deeply. "I've thought about it - dreamed about it - but I never imagined the reality could be even sweeter than my dreams. ..." He put his cheek against hers. "Tell me," he whispered, "do you love me as I love you?" "It's difficult to answer," she replied. "Until just now I think I've hated you more than anyone I've ever met." Charles sat up straight and pushed her a little away from him. A hurt, childish expression appeared on his face. "You don't love me, then?" he asked. "I hardly know. I feel so bewildered."

He drew her to him again and kissed her once more. "Do you know now?" he asked, holding her away from him again and looking into her eyes. Audrey nodded her head slowly. "It seems that I do," she said. "It seems that I can't help myself." "And you are going to marry me?" Celia's hateful words came back to her and she cried out, "No, oh, no, not that!" "Why not?" he demanded. "Why not that, if you love me?" "But you don't want to get married. You don't really want to get married. I know you don't. It's only to revenge yourself on Peter. I don't want to marry you. I'll never marry you. Never." He looked at her in a hurt, puzzled way. "What is all this?" he demanded. "What is this extraordinary idea you've got into your head about Peter?" For answer she suddenly burst into tears. She was overwrought. Both the tension beforehand and then the suddenness and passionate intensity of his lovemaking had been too much for her. In a moment Charles had sprung up and was kneeling beside her on the floor. She had covered her face with her hands and he was stroking her hair and murmuring words of comfort and endearment. "My dearest, my darling, what's the matter? What's upsetting you? What's worrying you?" She was reluctant to tell him at first, but he was insistent, and gradually he drew it out of her and she told him everything - all about her lunch with Celia and what Celia had said.

"This is too much," he cried when she had finished. "Too much! Celia's gone too far." "Then you didn't ask her to marry you?" "I did no such thing. ... You look incredulous. I see she's succeeded in poisoning your mind against me just as she intended to do, but that you . should believe her - that you should have believed her for a moment.... How could you? And even now I can see you're only half convinced." His voice had changed completely. It was almost his old self again speaking. He sounded proud, offended. "That you should trust her and not me," he went on. "Don't you see what her object was? Don't you see that it was all a pack of lies - wicked lies to try and separate us?" He had got up from his knees while he was speaking and was striding about the room, his face dark with anger. She wanted him back again, she wanted him to be gentle again, she wanted to feel his arms round her once more. "Please come and sit down and explain everything to me quietly," she said. "No, no," he replied. "How can you love me if you believed for a moment what she said about me? Marrying to spite Peter? How could you have believed it? You can't love me, for where is love without trust?" "You don't understand," she said in a small voice. "You don't understand that I was catching at every straw to try and prevent myself from loving you. I would have believed anything against you if I could have done so - anything?" "But why?" he demanded, coming to rest in front of her and looking steadfastly into her eyes. "Because I didn't want to love you." The words were wrung from her heart and went out to him with a little cry.

"Why not?" he insisted. "Because I didn't think there was a hope of your loving me." The words were hardly more than a whisper. He sank down at her feet again and held out his arms to her. "Oh, my dear," he said, deeply moved, "if only you knew how I, too, have struggled not to love you." He took her into his arms, gently this time, and their lips met in a long kiss. There was no more mistrusting each other after that. They sat close together and all her doubts and misgivings were resolved as he explained himself to her. He spoke first of Celia, which was only natural after the mischief that Celia had tried to make between them. "I don't want to sound conceited," he said, "but she has always had a kind of obsession about me. I was very fond of her when she was a child, but as she grew up I began to realize what she was - just a minx and a heartless little flirt. Her so-called love for me did not prevent her from having affairs with dozens of other people. She has always told me all about these affairs of hers, but has never, by any chance, listened to my advice, although she has asked for it often enough.... "Well, this time when she came up to Coburn I was determined to have it out with her once and for all, because I'd made up my mind by then that I was going to ask you to marry me - I'll tell you about that later. I wasn't taken in for a moment by her pretence that she didn't know I was there, for I happen to know that she has a friend in the village who always informs her of my movements.... Well, we went -out into the garden that evening after dinner, if you remember" - Audrey remembered it only too well - "the night before you left, it was, and I'd made up my mind to tell her then that I was in love with you" - Audrey felt her heart turn right over at these words. "I was not very much looking forward to telling her, as you can imagine, but she made it easy for me by telling me first, before I

could get a word in, that she was going to marry a man who had been wanting to marry her for years - a most charming fellow. After that it made it comparatively easy for me to tell her about you and she took it wonderfully well. She said how much she liked you and how sure she was that we would make each other happy. I was really delighted. I felt for the first time that it would be possible to achieve a friendly, cousinly relationship with her, and some of my old fondness for her returned. ..." "Did you tell her you were happy about it?" Audrey could not help asking. "Yes, I most certainly did. I told her more than once how happy she had made me both by her news and by being so very sweet and understanding about my feelings for you..." Here indeed was proof, if she needed proof, that what he was telling her was the truth, for was it not confirmed by his own words which she had overheard in the garden? But she did not need proof any longer. Her own heart was all the assurance she needed, and it was full to overflowing with the sweetness of the certainty of his love. "I still don't quite understand her conduct," he went on. "One thing I know now and that is that she would stop at nothing, nothing, to prevent our marriage - but whether she told me a deliberate lie when she said she was going to marry this other man or not I don't know." "Why should she tell you such a he?" "Oh, it's an old trick of hers; she's tried it on me more than once, but it doesn't work - at least with me it doesn't. She does it to try and excite my jealousy. She could never quite get it out of her head that I would not marry her in any circumstances. ... And now, after this, I never want to see her again."

"Please don't feel bitter about it," Audrey pleaded. "It's said that all's fair in love and war, and I dare say it is so." "No," he replied, and the old sternness was back in his voice. "No, this time she's gone too far. We must cut her out of our lives. I couldn't bear it that she might "harm you in some way - but that's absurd, because nothing can happen to you, no harm can come to you now that I shall always be there to take care of you." He drew her to him and kissed her fiercely, passionately, and then abruptly let her go. "Let me look at you," he said. "Are you real? On this really be true? Do you believe it yet?" "No, I'm sure it isn't true. I feel exactly as if I were in a dream. How can you love me? I was told by so many people that you were a confirmed woman-hater, and I even got that impression from you yourself." "It was the idea of marriage I hated," he said, and as he spoke his brow contracted. "As a boy I vowed to myself that I would never marry." "But why?" she asked. "It was my stepmother," he replied. "Peter's mother. I hated her hated her as I've never hated anyone before or since. It's hard to believe that, seeing how fond I am of Peter, isn't it? But it's true." "Why did you hate her so much?" "Because she made a fool of my father. My father doted on her; he was besotted with her, and she neglected all her duties. She would never live at Coburn and she made him neglect his responsibilities, too. Through her influence he became an absentee landlord - a thing I abominate. He spent all the last years of his life with her in Italy. I wouldn't have minded so much, I think, if she'd been fond of him in return, but she wasn't. I don't think she had a shred of affection for

him. She only thought of what she would get out of him. She ruled him, not by what she gave to him, but by what she withheld from him.... I can never forgive her. ... That was why I minded so much about Vivien in the beginning. It wasn't Vivien's fault, of course, but she did have a look of her. I couldn't help being reminded of her the hair, the eyes, something in the way she walks.... I was afraid of the same story repeating itself - so desperately afraid. ... But afterwards, when I got to know Vivien better, I realized one thing, that whatever Vivien's shortcomings might be she was not indifferent to Peter. She was, on the contrary, passionately in love with him. ... That was all I wanted to find out when I asked her to come and stay before announcing their engagement - I just wanted to be certain that she loved him enough - and I found that she did. Whereas you thought that all I wanted to do was to humiliate her." His tone was reproachful. "I know," she answered, "and now I'm so ashamed of it. I behaved so badly. I can't understand how you ever came to care for me." "Can't you?" He smiled at her. It was the first time he had ever smiled at her like that and it made her feel quite dizzy with happiness. "Can't you?" he repeated. "Can't you, my green-eyed beauty? Well, I'll confess something to you. It wasn't your character that first drew me to you - though I did admire your spirit and courage and intelligence. But no, I'm rather ashamed to say that it was you - just you - your heavenly eyes, your smile, the way your hair grows, the dimple in your cheek. ... Oh, yes, I came to admire your character afterwards. I love you now for what I really know you to be - the whole of you - but I fell in love first with your green eyes...." "But you said you fought against loving me?"

"So I did. Oh, don't think for a moment, that I owned to myself that I loved you. On the contrary, I told myself that you were the most objectionable girl I had ever met." "Yes, just as I told myself that you were the most horrible man!" "Exactly. ... And then gradually I came to think more and more about you until I realized my danger.... That was why I went away when I heard you were coming to stay with Vivien. I couldn't trust myself. And then later, after you had found me at the cottage, it came over me all at once that I couldn't live without you. ... I came back that afternoon, not because I really had any work to do, but because I knew you wouldn't come on account of the storm and I just had to see you - to be with you...." She put her head down on his shoulder, sighing happily. "I was so unhappy that day after the storm," she said, "because I had no excuse to come to you. ... Why didn't you say anything to me before I left the Castle?" "Oh, my dearest, you may well ask that, I so nearly did, but there were lots of little things which had to be cleared up first, or so it seemed to me then. I was worried about Peter, for one thing, and his disappointment over his inheritance if I got married. I can't tell you what a relief it was to me - what a joy - to find that he didn't really care about it at all- in fact that both he and Vivien would much sooner not be burdened with it.... The only other time I might have done it was when we were lying out that night under the stars - the night of the badger hunt. I was so near to it then - I simply didn't know how to keep my hands off you. I thought that you must be sure to feel how I was feeling. My feeling was so strong I didn't see how you could fail to be aware of it" "And why did you restrain it?" she asked.

"Because I hadn't yet got things cleared up with Celia. I wanted to get straight with her - I wanted to be on the level with her. I wanted to tell her myself and not let her hear it from somebody else. I wanted to hurt her as little as possible. Do you understand?" Yes, she did understand, and she loved in him this proof of his concern for the feelings of others. She was beginning to discover the true sensitiveness of his soul and the tenderness of his heart. "But you let all this fortnight go by," she said reproachfully. "Oh, that was maddening. I got a sort of 'flu. I was kept in bed for over a week." "Oh, my poor darling! You should have told me. ... Do Vivien and Peter know?" He shook his head. "No, I haven't told them yet, but it doesn't take much imagination to know how happy they'll be about it. They both love you so much." "I will try and be a good wife to you," she said very seriously. "And I shall spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy, trying to be worthy of you," he replied with equal seriousness. He stretched out his arms to her and she went over to him and took his hands. "Audrey, how soon are you going to marry me?" he asked, and his voice was very serious. She hesitated, and he said, "Is there anything to wait for?" She shook her head, and he drew her to him. "Will you marry me as soon as I can get a licence?" he whispered in her ear. "As soon as possible," she whispered back, and her head fell on his shoulder with a sense of returning home after a long journey.