“But you didn’t come alone! Where is Edred? If he couldn’t leave his business you should have wired. I would have driven to the station. I would have brought the new Battlesden. You know you had set your heart on one. I bought it soon after you went away. It’s only been used once. Did Edred----” “Sit down,” she said, with another light touch. “Oh! this fire is glorious.” She turned up the hem of her skirt and let the warmth touch her icy ankles. “It’s Friday,” Jethro continued thoughtfully. “Is he coming down to-morrow? You must stay a week at least.” “I’ll stay longer--if you will have me,” she said, looking at him queerly. “Good! I didn’t suppose he’d be able to get away from business for more than a week. All the summer I’ve been talking of running up to town, but I’ve been prevented: haying, harvest, one thing and the other. You never wrote”--his voice was gently reproachful--“but I remembered the address--Marquise Mansions.” “You’ve been making improvements,” she said, looking round the room. “Yes, I’ve done a few things--the things we settled to do before you went away,” he returned, in a calm voice, “I knew you’d be coming down sooner or later, and that you would be pleased. Let me ring for tea--though there will be dinner in half an hour”--he pulled out the big, ancestral watch. “I dine late now, as they do at the Warren.” “The Warren! Oh, yes. Of course you dine late now.” So it _was_ Maria Furlonger of the Warren--Maria Furlonger, who made such agonized efforts to get on socially. “I know you like late dinner. I thought it was as well to have it, so that when you and Edred came down there would be no fuss--everything ready and as usual. He used to say that early dinner gave him indigestion. Late ones make me sleepy; I’m ready for bed before nine.” “But you haven’t done all these things; you don’t dine late--for us?” “The place had to be done up,” he said, rather curtly, as if he thought she laid too much stress on a trivial point. “It doesn’t matter much whether you call your last meal dinner or supper.” “But----” She broke off. The fire was warm and crackling, his voice so calm, she didn’t wish to disturb things. She recoiled from telling him the truth, she shrank from hearing it. For she was certain that he meant to marry. He had learnt to be indifferent to her--his kiss was an admission of that. “We must have Gainah in.” He put his hand out again to that little knob on the wall. “She shall tell them to get the guest-room ready. You’d like to go upstairs?” “Not yet. There is something I must tell you first. Perhaps you’ll turn me out--I don’t know. In any case you will wish me to go to-morrow morning; even if you were willing to let me stay, she wouldn’t hear of it.” “Gainah! She doesn’t rule me any longer,” he laughed. “Poor old Gainah! She’s old--and queer. Aunt Sophy is afraid she is breaking up. That would be awkward for me; a man can’t manage maids.”