ain.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

Suddenly Jean wrapped herself in a mantle of reserve. Not even to
Vanna, her chosen confidante, did she express surprise at Gloucester's
sudden appearance, or make one single comment, favourable or the
reverse. Driving home in Mrs Rendall's carriage, she maintained her
fair share in the conversation, and betrayed no sign of embarrassment.
That she was embarrassed Vanna knew by the tone of her voice, which was
wont to take a higher, shriller note on such occasions; but neither
Gloucester nor Miggles was likely to recognise so subtle a betrayal.
The old lady was evidently greatly taken with the new acquaintance, and
invited him to dinner at the end of the drive.

"We are only three women, very dull for a young man, but as you are
alone in the inn--so unhomelike, inn-parlours!--if you _would_ care to
dine at seven o'clock, pot luck, just a simple meal! Don't dress; it's
a picnic life down here, and the girls like to run about as long as it
keeps light."

Miggles had reigned as mistress of Mr Goring's home for so many years
that, failing the second wife's presence, she still managed the
household, without any attempt at interference from her old pupil. Jean
had no ambition for domestic responsibilities; looking after a house was
dull, stodgy work, Miggles liked it, then for goodness' sake let her do
it; she had no wish to exercise her prerogative. It was Miggles,
therefore, who gave the newcomer his first invitation to the Cottage,
but when Robert's eyes turned to the girl with an involuntary question,
Jean was ready with a gracious support.

"We are very quiet, as Miss Miggs says. Next week father brings down
the family, and it will be livelier; but if you care to risk it, we
shall be pleased."

"Seven o'clock. Thank you!" said Robert simply. He took his leave for
the time being, and the ladies entered the Cottage.

"We had better get our letters written, as we shall not have time later
on," said Jean calmly. Even when seated with Vanna at the same
writing-table she made no reference to the event of the afternoon. It
might have been the most natural thing in the world for Robert
Gloucester to leave his old friends in less than a week after his return
from India, in order to have the privilege of fishing with a strange
elderly gentleman. When the letters were finished, she talked on
indifferent subjects, gaily, lovingly, intimately as ever, yet with a
certain