voice seemed to jeer at the spoken words, to laugh with a saturnine
unbelief. She hurried breathlessly on: "In your case, I do really seem
to blame. I did mislead you. I was in a truant mood that afternoon,
and forgot my responsibilities. You must forgive me, and let me do all
I can to help your convalescence."

"Thanks," Peignton said absently. He sighed with profound regret.
"That summer-house is so far away. I shan't be able to get so far. I
should have enjoyed another tea. What about the Bath chair?"

Cassandra shook her head.

"That summer-house is my own special property. I admit a friend on
occasion, but never more than one. I even put up with tinned milk,
rather than let the household know where I disappear for so many of the
missing teas. If one of the men wheeled your chair for you, there would
be no more chance of running away."

Peignton's look showed a latent jealousy.

"Whom have you taken there besides myself?"

"Not many. One or two only, until the last months. Then--pretty
often--Mrs Beverley."

The jealousy was still to the fore.

"You are very devoted to Mrs Beverley?"

"I'm thankful to say, I am! I needed a woman friend, and we were
friends at once. There were no preliminary stages. At our second
meeting it seemed absurd to address each other by formal titles. I knew
her better at that early stage, than many of the women who have been my
neighbours for years."

"I should have thought," Peignton said slowly, "that at this period of
her existence Mrs Beverley was too much engrossed with her man to have
any interest to spare for an outside friendship."

The latent grudge sounded in his voice. Cassandra discerned it, and
turned upon him with a smile. Without troubling to think why or
wherefore, she knew that he was jealous of her intimacy with Grizel, and
the knowledge was balm to her soul.

"I'll tell you a secret!" she said, stopping her work to emphasise her
words with uplifted finger. "_No_ man can altogether engross a woman!
However good, and fine, and tender he may be, there's still a need
within her that only a woman can fill. The happiest married woman needs
a woman friend. The better the husband, the more she needs her. A good
man is so aggravatingly free from littlenesses. He objects to
grumbling; he makes the best of misfortunes; he refuses to repeat
gossip; he has a tiresome habit of imagining that his wife means
everything she says. If a woman is to