She wondered why she had ever been unhappy, and decided never
again to "give way." She wondered what Bernard had really felt when she
had declared that she did not love him. Poor Bernard! How could she
have been so bold? Of course she loved him! He was a nice old dear.
She wondered if, after all, the new afternoon dress had better be grey!
Suppose it were violet for a change; just the right shade of violet,
without a touch of red. She wondered if she dare wear the new French
hat in Chumley, and what the boy would say of it when he came from
school. He had a way of calling her hats "the Limit," and looking
self-conscious in their presence. She had laughed, and worn them all
the same, for the wearing of the latest eccentricity in hats had been
something more than a slavish following of fashion,--it had been a
virtual throwing down of the gage in the face of the prejudices of the
neighbourhood. On the days when she was most oppressed by the
atmosphere of Chumley and its inhabitants, it had a tonic effect to
drive up and down the High Street, wearing a feather stuck at an angle
never before attempted out of Paris, and to watch eyes roll from right
to left. There had been a time when the church aisle was her chosen
shocking-ground. Cassandra blushed when she recalled that phase, and
remembered what had brought it to an end. Just an expression on Mrs
Evans's face. Nothing more. She had paused outside the church gate to
speak a passing word before getting into the car, and the Vicar's wife
had been kindly and affectionate as ever, had called her "Dear," and
held her hand in a lengthened pressure, but there had been a shadow upon
the large, plain face, and the grey eyes were rigorously averted from
the marvellous headpiece topping the small, brilliant face. The
silence, the kindliness, made Cassandra feel suddenly mean and small, a
sensation which was intensified as the car turned from the church door,
and Bernard had said with a laugh: "Give 'em a treat this time, Cass!
That hat of yours took the starch out of the Vicar's sermon." An hour
later the hat was a smouldering ruin, and henceforth Cassandra took her
plainest clothes to church. But the High Street remained, and here no
one could interfere. As the wife of the squire and landlord she might
indeed be said to have the right to shock, when it pleased her so to do.

Now that the bulbs were in bloom Bernard would agitate for the usual
spring garden party. H