that. She
would be a bold woman who could defy that silent challenge!

We made our escape, and walked home in silence. Charmion seemed very
depressed, and went to bed at nine o'clock. Next time I see Delphine
Merrivale, I shall tell her plainly that I will--not--have Mrs Fane
annoyed with questions about the past!

Last night we dined at the Hall. Last night things happened. We
started feeling quite festive and excited, for, after a strictly
domestic life for nearly five months, it becomes quite thrilling to dine
in another house, and to eat food which one has not ordered oneself. As
we drove along the lanes, we amused ourselves like schoolgirls, guessing
what we "would have," and who would "take us in". Charmion, as the
married woman, would obviously fall to the Squire. I hoped I should be
at the other end of the table, with a partner who was sweet tempered and
appreciative. Bridget had come back from posting a letter, bearing the
thrilling news that the Squire's car had been to the station to meet a
party of guests. Two fine, upstanding ladies, and a gentleman with a
figure like a wooden Noah in the Ark. The shoulders of him!--that
square you might have cut them with a knife! It was refreshing to know
that we were to meet people who did _not_ live within a radius of five
miles. I rather hoped those shoulders would fall to my share!

They did. He is an American. I might have guessed that by the
description, and one of the "fine upstanding ones" is his bride, and
they have been "doing" England for a few weeks, before starting on a
year's honeymoon in the East. The explanation of their appearance at
the Hall is that they "chanced" to have met the Squire years ago in
America, and wished to renew the acquaintance. So things came about!
Mr Elliott is an interesting man, and, like all Americans, loves to
talk about his own country. He was pained and shocked to hear I had
never crossed the Atlantic, until I told him that half myself, in the
person of an only sister, had gone in my place. I was just going to add
that Charmion also had spent a great part of her life in the States,
when--something stopped me--one of those mysterious impulses which, at
times, lay a finger on our lips, and check the coming words.

Charmion sat on one side of the Squire, Mrs Elliott on the other. I
was half-way down the table, sandwiched in between a dozen comfortable,
middle-aged worthies, who were all intimate friends, if n