?"

"Yes."

Pettifer was certain that she had before she opened her mouth to
answer him.

"I shall dine at Little Beeding on Friday," he said, "because Harold
always gives me an admirable glass of vintage port"; and with that he
dismissed the subject. Mrs. Pettifer was content to let it smoulder in
his mind. She was not quite sure that he was as disturbed as she wished
him to be, but that he was proud of Dick she knew, and if by any chance
uneasiness grew strong in him, why, sooner or later he would let fall
some little sentence; and that little sentence would probably be useful.

CHAPTER XVI

CONSEQUENCES

The dinner-party at Little Beeding was a small affair. There were but ten
altogether who sat down at Mr. Hazlewood's dinner-table and with the
exception of the Pettifers all, owing to Dick Hazlewood's insistence,
were declared partisans of Stella Ballantyne. None the less Stella came
to it with hesitation. It was the first time that she had dined abroad
since she had left India, now the best part of eighteen months ago, and
she went forth to it as to an ordeal. For though friends of hers would be
present to enhearten her she was to meet the Pettifers. The redoubtable
Aunt Margaret had spoilt her sleep for a week. It was for the Pettifers
she dressed, careful to choose neither white nor black, lest they should
find something symbolic in the colour of her gown and make of it an
offence. She put on a frock of pale blue satin trimmed with some white
lace which had belonged to her mother, and she wore not so much as a thin
gold chain about her neck. But she did not need jewels that night. The
months of quiet had restored her to her beauty, the excitement of this
evening had given life and colour to her face, the queer little droop at
the corners of her lips which had betrayed so much misery and bitterness
of spirit had vanished altogether. Yet when she was quite dressed and
her mirror bade her take courage she sat down and wrote a note of apology
pleading a sudden indisposition. But she did not send it. Even in the
writing her cowardice came home to her and she tore it up before she had
signed her name. The wheels of the cab which was to take her to the big
house rattled down the lane under her windows, and slipping her cloak
over her shoulders she ran downstairs.

The party began with a little constraint. Mr. Hazlewood received his
guests in his drawing-room and it had the chill and the ceremony of a
roo