Of course he would come if she asked him.... It would be a nuisance, naturally, with the dinner-party in the evening, but they could go up by one train and come back by the next, or start earlier and have their lunch in town.... If she suggested lunch he would surely come.... A man hates to be hurried, but with due time allowed for the importances of life he would come?... He ought to come. After Coral’s message he ought to come.... She would go up again to the Priory that very afternoon to ask him.... She did. She went up to the Priory on Thursday, and again on Friday for that express purpose, but she found when she tried that she was not able to ask him. She could not get out the words. She was afraid of his acquiescence, of his bored, impatient acquiescence that was worse than a refusal. She was afraid—it gave her a shock to realize that she was actually afraid of Justin. She took the discovery up to town with her that Saturday, setting it to the monody of the train. “Afraid of Justin? Afraid of Justin?” “Absurd! Absurd! Afraid of Justin?” Coral, explicitly, and almost before they were in speaking distance, explanatively out of mourning, did not soothe her. Coral must needs interrupt embraces, and introductions to the company, and asides to porters, and high-pitched laughter, and a rattle of news, to say— “You’re no relation! Where’s my dear brother-in-law?” “He was awfully sorry. He was kept at the last moment—quite unexpectedly. He sent all sorts of messages,” said Laura successfully. Then, because she was an amateur, she added the touch too much: “He was sure you’d understand.” Coral was appreciative. “What a liar you are! You weren’t a week ago! What’s been happening?” Then, with a scream of delight. “Don’t say—oh, my dear, don’t say you’ve had a row with him!” She tucked her arm into Laura’s and trotted her off down the platform. “Come on—come to my compartment (to myself, of course—leading lady) and tell me all about it.” Laura, in her fright, was cruel— “And Timothy sent messages too. Such a lot. He did so want to come.” “You might have brought him.” Coral stared in front of her. “But you said—you said—” began Laura, distressed. But the clang of trundled milk-cans drowned the answer. When they could hear themselves again Coral had found her compartment, and, settling herself and Laura in it, was giving her the private and professional history of every member of the company at once till the carriage doors began to slam and Laura had to jump out in a hurry. Coral leant out of the window. “Good-bye! You were a brick to come. Give my love to Grannie. I’ll write from Gib, tell her. And tell Justin I quite understand.” “What?” Coral laughed. “Oh, the message he didn’t send, and—” she raised her voice as the train began to creak—“and the letter he didn’t write, for that matter.” Laura ran along, level with the moving window, scarlet, voluble.