Annie trembled as she entered. She could not think yet, could not understand what this calm welcome foreboded. As his hand had touched hers in helping her from the dog-cart it had not held hers quite steadily; but Annie had not been able to see his face, had not known what emotion caused his fingers to close for an instant so convulsively on her own. What did he mean to do? What would he say when at last the time came, as come it must, for speaking to her alone? Mrs. Clewer took her to the drawing-room--a cold, bare room which looked as if it were little lived in; and, when the gentlemen came in, and tea was presently brought, she played hostess very gracefully, doing her best to make her husband proud of her by charm of speech and manner. Whatever effect she might have upon her husband, who spoke little to her and never once looked into her face, she enchained her guests, who regretted sincerely that they could not stay to dinner, and delayed their departure until they were in danger of missing their train. When at last they left, and Harry accompanied them to the park gates, she retreated to the deserted drawing-room, threw open the window for air, and leaned against it, shaking from head to foot with excitement and fear. Then, after what seemed a long time, during which she thought with horror that he had gone away to escape her, she heard his tread in the hall. “Oh, heavens, what will he say to me?” thought she. CHAPTER XXVII. Annie heard her husband open the door, but she did not turn round; then she heard his footsteps advance to the middle of the room and stop. She still stood leaning against the open French window, seeing nothing before her, and waiting for him to speak to learn what tone he was going to assume toward her. At last she heard him clear his throat, as if to attract her attention; but she took no notice. She fancied he must be working himself up to a proper pitch of indignation, and she tried to school herself to show a bold front when at last his wrath should burst out. Her case was the stronger by far, and, although that fact did not give her all the consolation it should have done at that moment, yet it would stand her in good stead when the conflict had really begun. Nevertheless, she would have given worlds for the _sang-froid_ with which she had entered upon any contest with him in the old days when his opinion upon any subject was a matter of indifference to her, and when his outbursts of unreasonable anger had excited in her nothing but contempt and disgust. He cleared his throat again, and again she took no notice. At last he spoke: “Annie, aren’t you going to speak to me?” he asked, in the gentlest, most entreating of voices. She turned round in surprise. He stood there before her, this big, handsome young fellow who could tame the most fiery of horses with a hand and a will of iron, shy, nervous, irresolute, looking down with wistful submission on the small, slight woman at the window.