self-control.

Then in a calm voice she says:

"Very well, Sarah; that is all."

She raised the teapot with an effort, pouring out the brown fluid
jerkily.

As the door closes, she covers her face with her hands, rocking to and
fro.

[Illustration: She covers her face with her hands.]

"He does not trust me," she cries fiercely, all that is evil kindling
to life within her. "He slights and insults me, lowers me before my
own servants. He dares to shut his doors against my will, to the man
who is my friend. He treats me like a captive, a slave. Oh! Philip,
you do not know what you have done to-day? You do not guess how much
this want of faith may cost you. I was so strong, till you threw me
back, so sure, till you treated me like this!"

Eleanor realises how the shock of Philip's order has been the
death-blow to her good resolves. A sudden hatred of her husband leaps
into her heart and brain, choking her.

"A little confidence, a little love," she murmurs. "They are small
things to ask at Philip's hands, yet he holds them from me in his cold
reserve and suspicious dread."

Her eyes are dry and bright, her throat is parched, her forehead burns.

What will Carol think? Carol will be sorry, but not angry; Carol is
always kind, considerate, forgiving. The dangerous fascination of
imagination steals over her. Carol is at her side in a waking dream,
but the scene is very different to the one she had contemplated. She
fancies he is kneeling as once before by the same sofa, murmuring again
those wild, impassioned words. She bends to grasp his hands and raise
him from the grovelling adoration to her own level. They are just a
man and woman--soul to soul, clay; ah! yes, of the earth earthly.

She breaks into a low laugh which ripples round the room, and seems to
die away in something like a sob.

What is this rising tumult in her heart?

She cannot analyse her mood, it seems as if a certain knowledge has
broken in like a flood of light upon her dim reason.

"Who can prevent me loving him, who can hold me back if I will it, if I
choose?"

The door re-opens. Sarah enters with one of Mrs. Mounteagle's little
scented notes upon a salver.

DEAREST ELEANOR,--If you are in, just toddle round to tea like a
darling. I have some delicious toasted buns, and I want you to come
and eat them. Don't put on gloves.

Your all impatient,
GIDDY.

It is intolerable sitting in alone, fuming over her wro