Jethro went out to hurry Daborn with the horse. Pamela, the untasted pudding steaming on her plate, got up with a jerk, and spoke of putting on her hat and gloves. Edred, who had been trying to catch her eye all through the meal, touched her softly on the back of the hand with his fingers. She gave a little cry, and flinched as if they had been hot coal. Her wide eyes, searching his face for the first time, were wildly appealing. He was piqued by her decision to stay behind and marry Jethro. Now that there was a chance of losing her, she suddenly became desirable. “This won’t do,” he whispered eagerly. “You must come.” “I can’t. Everything is settled.” “Pooh! You could arrange----” He had her hand. He was looking at her ardently. The impulse to go with him--let fate bring what it might--was strong. She looked at him. He was more in earnest, more in love than he had ever been. She had always understood that it was a mistake to let a man know you loved him--but then her feeling had always been so intense that she had been incapable of hiding it. Her love had bubbled in her eyes, on her eager lips. But it was bad strategy all the same. She looked at the cold, dim room, at the foolishly intent old woman by the window, stitching blue hearts on worn white dimity in a perfect fury of aimless industry. She looked at the grim shadow of the yew, at the yawning cavern of the open hearth, at the somber furniture. And she thought of London, with its glitter, its hurry, and vivacity. London and Love! She let her wrist relax, let her whole fluttering hand be buried in that long, cool one. “I might arrange----” She broke off as Jethro came through the low door. “You two ought to be ready,” he called out. “The horse is coming round.” She turned and faced him, with her cheeks like rouged cheeks and her eyes like polished, many-faceted diamonds. “There is really no need for you to go,” she said unsteadily “Edred wouldn’t mind. Let Daborn drive us. You know you had an appointment at the Flagon House.” “But that was this morning. Of course I’ll come. Be quick and get your hat on.” She went up the shallow stairs, woe at her wavering, passionate heart. It was no good; he must go alone. It was far better that he should go alone. “Edred can sit on the box with me. The wagonette is half filled up with luggage,” Jethro said, as she came out of the gate. “We can manage very well behind. Can’t we?” She turned, trembling, to Edred, who was digging at his shoes with the point of his cane. “Then jump in.” Jethro had the reins in his hand. They flashed along the white roads. She and Edred kept their hands clasped under the summer rug of Holland. Once she bent forward, first looking cautiously at the figure on the box, and shook her head, and whispered: “I can’t do it. You see he _would_ come.”