believe that it amused Mr Maplestone,
as far as he was capable of being amused. He was quite human; once or
twice, as we rushed after a "scent," he was even _lively_. I began to
think he might really be quite nice.

We found one other parcel--a box of cigarettes--and then made our way
back to the lawn, where the General's valet was waiting, and took over
the chair. Delphine came up to me and slipped her hand through my arm.

"Evelyn, you have managed beautifully, but you must be dead tired and
longing for tea. I'm going to stand over you and make you rest. Stupid
of Jacky to send the Squire to help you! You'd have been happier with
anyone else, but he's so dense, so in the clouds, that he doesn't notice
these things. Evelyn, isn't it strange how he dislikes you?"

"Who? Your husband?"

"Nonsense. No. You know quite well--Mr Maplestone. At first, of
course, one can understand he was prejudiced; but _now_! And when you
have been so nice!"

"Thank you for that. I'm glad you appreciate me. Why are you so sure
the Squire does not?"

"Because," she said imperturbably, "he tells me so!"

Curiosity is a terrible thing. It's bad enough when it concerns itself
about other people, but when it comes to oneself, it's ten times worse.
I _ached_ to ask, "When?" and "Where?" and "How?" and exactly in what
words Mr Maplestone's dislike had been expressed, but pride closed my
lips, and I would not let myself go. Of course I had known before, but
I had imagined that after the chair episode--What stings is not the
dislike itself, but the putting it into words to such a confidante as
Delphine. No, let me be honest; the dislike itself _does_ sting. I
have my own petty feminine craving, and it is to be liked, to have
people appreciate and approve of me, if they do nothing more. Even
indifference is difficult to bear, but _dislike_--Well, thank goodness,
I have lived in a warm-hearted country among warm-hearted people who
have loved me for my name if for nothing else. Really and truly, I
believe this ugly, red-headed man is the first person who has ever dared
to speak openly of dislike for Evelyn Wastneys!

I pity and despise him. I wouldn't have his approval if I could.
Henceforth I shall never think of him, nor mention his name. To me he
is dead. All is over between us before anything ever began! It is
finished. This is the end. The fete ended at nine o'clock, and
Charmion and I, with the other stall-holde