iding her, but
paying a great deal of attention to Margaret. Of course she was glad for
him to like Margaret, but Richard out in India must be considered. She
could not forget that promise she had made to Richard last June, when
they were paddling up-stream into the sunset. Guy was charming; in a way
she could be almost as fond of him as of Richard, but what would she say
to Richard if she let Guy carry off Margaret? Besides, it was unkind not
to have a word for her when she was always such a good listener to his
tales of Miss Peasey, and when they could always laugh together at the
same absurdities of daily life. Perhaps he had felt that Margaret, who
had been so critical over his curtains, must be propitiated--and yet now
he was already going without a word to herself; he was shaking hands
with her so formally that, though she longed to tease him for wearing
silk socks with those heavy brogues, she could not. He seemed to be
angry with her ... surely he was not angry because she had Hailed him
from the window?

"What was the matter with Guy?" she asked when he was gone, and, when
everybody looked at her sharply, Pauline felt herself on fire with
blushes, made a wild stitch in the tail of the scarlet bird, and then
rushed away to look for the lost embrocation, refusing to hear when they
called after her that Mother had been sitting on it all the afternoon.

The windows along the corridors were inky blue, almost turning black, as
she stared at them, half frightened in the unlighted dusk; outside, the
noise of the rain was increasing every moment. She would sit up in her
bedroom till dinner-time and write a long letter to India. By
candle-light she wrote to Richard, seated at the small desk that was
full of childish things.

WYCHFORD RECTORY, OXON. _Tuesday_.

MY DEAR RICHARD,--Thank you for your last letter, which was very
interesting. I should think your bridge was wonderful. Will you
come back to England when it's finished? There is not much to tell
you except that a man called Guy Hazlewood has taken Plashers
Mead. He is very nice, or else I should have hated him to take the
house you wanted. He is very tall--not so tall as father, of
course--and he is a poet. He has a very nice bobtail and a
touching housekeeper who is deaf. Birdwood likes him very much; so
I expect you would, too. Birdwood wants to know if it's true that
people in India--oh, bother, now I've f