Arthur--I couldn't--you know that I couldn't."

A panic seized her and she went blushing to her room.

She was still flushed with excitement or pleasure when she came down to
dinner. Mrs. Payne, in a matronly dress of black, sat at the head of
the table with Arthur and Gabrielle on either side of her facing each
other. The arrangement struck her as a triumph of strategy. From this
central position she could see them both and intercept any such glances
as had passed between them in the church at Lapton. In this she was
disappointed, for there was nothing to be seen in the behaviour of
either but a transparent happiness. "They only want encouragement,"
she thought, and settled down deliberately to put them at their ease, a
proceeding that was quite unnecessary for the last feeling that could
have entered either of their minds was that of guilt.

So the evening passed, in the utmost propriety. No look, no sign, no
symptom of unusual tenderness appeared. It even seemed that Gabrielle
was particularly anxious to make the conversation general. "Oh, you're
artful!" thought Mrs. Payne, "but I'll have you yet." They talked of
Lapton, of Considine and of the Traceys. Only once did Mrs. Payne
surprise a single suspicious circumstance.

"I showed Mrs. Considine the dogs, mother," he said. "She's fallen in
love with Boris."

"Yes, his eyes are like amber," said Gabrielle.

"So I thought I'd like to write to Banbury to-morrow and get her a
puppy."

"Certainly, dear," said Mrs. Payne suavely. Bedtime came. Gabrielle
and Arthur shook hands in the most ordinary fashion. Mrs. Payne,
seeing Gabrielle to her door and submitting, once again, to an
uncomfortable kiss, felt that her triumphant plan had already shown
itself to be a failure. She went along the passage to her own room
with a sense of bewilderment and defeat. She could not sleep for
thinking. She wondered, desperately, if when all other methods had
failed, as she now expected they would, she could possibly approach
their secret from another angle, laying aside her watchful inactivity
and becoming in defiance of all her principles an "agent provocateuse."
If it came to the worst she might be forced to do this, for very little
time was left to her. If she remained static she would be powerless.
Next day, she reflected, they had planned a ride over the flat top of
Bredon Hill. She could not go with them; she could not even watch
them; yet who knew what sha