the log
bubbles slowly floated up through the dark water, wavered a little under
the glassy surface, and then popped up and made a dirty trail of spume.
That was like the way Mr. Philip sat in the dark corner beyond the
fireplace and showed by the way the whites of his eyes turned about that
something bad had come into his mind, and let a space of silence fall so
that one thought he was not going to say it after all, and then it would
come out suddenly, cool and as mean as mean could be and somehow
unanswerable.

With a twingeing hope that it would not be so, she watched the silver
birch branch hesitate, yield to the under-ebb, and lie at last helpless
on the black stagnancy, which continued to vibrate with an air of
malice. Soon its pretty leaves were waterlogged, and it sank down to bed
with the grassy rottenness beside the whitish grasses. It had had no
chance, any more than she herself had when Mr. Philip contrived that
although she should run away from him all day, there would come a time
when they stood face to face in the little room where no one came, and
stared and drawled until she said the silly bairn-like thing that gave
him the chance to make a fool of her. It was all right to be here on the
Pentlands enjoying herself, but on Monday she would have to go back and
work under Mr. Philip. She could not go on like this. She would have to
kill herself. She would jump over the Dean Bridge. Mother would just
have to go and live with Aunt Bessie at Bournemouth.

Yaverland spoke behind her, indolently, because he felt he had all the
rest of his life to be happy with her. "Where's this Rachael Wing you
talk about? Aren't you still pals?"

Ellen swallowed her unshed tears. "'Deed, yes," she said, "but she's
gone to London to be an actress. I wish I knew how she was getting on.
She's never written since the first month."

"Probably she's having hard luck."

"Not Rachael. She's not like me. I always was a poor creature beside
her. Anybody could see that Rachael had a wonderful life before her.
She's not a bit like me."

"But that's just what you look like."

"Havers!" she said dully. "And me so pairfectly miserable!" As soon as
the words were out of her mouth she was frozen with horror. In the
presence of one who was both a man and English she had admitted the
disgraceful fact that she was not an imperial creature insolent with
success and well pleased with the earth her footstool. She scrambled to
her feet and