In a second all the hot Cymric blood which lay hidden somewhere behind Alicia's almost phlegmatic calm had leapt up in resentment; and almost before she realised what she was doing, she had passed the entrance and stood in the room, challenging those two. The table was laid for tea; there was an air of placid comfort, of as it were collusion, which gave the finishing-touch to her anger. "So you have not gone with the carrier, Myfanwy Jones?" she said. Mervyn's arm left the black-satin waist hastily, but Myfanwy did not budge. She simply threw a backward glance over her shoulder. "Oh! good afternoon, Alicia! No! I did not go. Mervyn and I are to drive over to Llanilo in Thomas's waggonette, as soon as we have had our tea." In an instant it resolved itself into a duel between these two women for the possession of the man who stood, his beauty somewhat blurred by anxiety, looking like a fool between them. "But I have come," replied Alicia firmly, "to have a talk with Mervyn about--about something; so, perhaps, you will drive alone to Llanilo, Myfanwy. It might be better." She fixed Mervyn with an eye that held in it a world of entreaty besides some indignation. His inward uneasiness felt the threat. "Perhaps it would be better, Myfanwy," he said helplessly. "We have much to talk over and arrange before we start again on--on our work." Myfanwy turned on him like a flash. "Will you hold your tongue, Mervyn Pugh," she said magnificently. "This is between Alicia Edwards and me." Then she turned back again to her adversary, "Say what you will to him now, Alicia. We are engaged to be married, so you can say to me what you will say to him." Alicia gave a little cry of real dismay. "Oh Mervyn! Say it is not true;--think of poor silly Gwen, but just dead!" she pulled herself up, being in truth still but half-hearted in her desire to denounce. Myfanwy shot a swift glance at Mervyn; she was really and honestly fond of him, and the idea, at any rate, which Alicia's words suggested was not new to her. Still no matter what she said to him about it in the future, this was the time for defence--quick, ready defence. "Yes!" she said. "Gwen is dead, so why should you drag her out of the grave, poor soul! 'Let the dead past bury its dead,' Alicia, you learnt that in school, I am sure. And, whatever happens, I am going to marry Mervyn--of that you may be sure." It was then that Alicia, feeling the inward certainty that this was true, that her bolt had failed of its mark, gave the rein to denunciation. "But I must speak to him! Oh Mervyn! Think," she cried, her voice ringing with a perfect medley of emotion, "you who have saved so many, think of your own soul. Think how the soul of your child, think how the soul of poor Gwen cry out against you!" A man's step on the gravel outside made Myfanwy start forward with a muffled exclamation. "Be quiet, will you! you will be overheard--you--you will ruin him! Will you hold your tongue?" she cried.