she had not heard his question. She began to talk very
animatedly to Rosalie about several matters of no consequence. Dysart
rose, stretched his sunburned arms with over-elaborate ease, tossed away
his cigarette, picked up his tennis bat, and said: "See you at luncheon.
Are you coming, Rosalie?"

"In a moment, Jack." She went on talking inconsequences to Geraldine;
her husband waited, exchanging a remark or two with Duane in his easy,
self-possessed fashion.

"Dear," said Rosalie at last to Geraldine, "I must run away and dry my
hair. How did we come out at tennis, Jack?"

"All to the bad," he replied serenely, and nodding to Geraldine and
Duane he entered the house, his young wife strolling beside him and
twisting up her wet hair.

Duane seated himself and crossed his lank legs, ready for an amiable
chat before he retired to dress for luncheon; but Geraldine did not even
look toward him. She was lying deep in the chair, apparently relaxed and
limp; but every nerve in her was at tension, every delicate muscle taut
and rigid, and in her heart was anger unutterable, and close, very close
to the lids which shadowed with their long fringe the brown eyes'
velvet, were tears.

"What have you been up to all the morning?" he asked. "Did you try the
fishing?"

"Yes."

"Anything doing?"

"No."

"I thought they wouldn't rise. It's too clear and hot. That's why I
didn't keep on with Kathleen and Scott. Two are enough on bright water.
Don't you think so?"

She said nothing.

"Besides," he added, "I knew you had old Grandcourt running close at
heel and that made four rods on Hurryon. So what was the use of my
joining in?"

She made no reply.

"You didn't mind, did you?" he asked carelessly.

"No."

"Oh, all right," he nodded, not feeling much relieved.

The strange blind anger still possessed her. She lay there immobile,
expressionless, enduring it, not trying even to think why; yet her anger
was rising against him, and it surged, receded helplessly, flushed her
veins again till they tingled. But her lids remained closed; the lashes
rested softly on the curve of her cheeks; not a tremor touched her face.

"I am wondering whether you are feeling all right," he ventured
uneasily, conscious of the tension between them.

With an effort she took command of herself.

"The sun was rather hot. It's a headache; I walked back by the road."

"_With_ the faithful one?"

"No," she said evenly, "Mr. Grandcourt remaine