Mr. Lane glanced from one to the other with a laugh. "Ah, I see! A lovers' quarrel," and he followed Master Bobby. Peter echoed his laugh, and in a tone which would have justified Mr. Lane in knocking him down had he heard. "So ye're his dear girl too, are ye? He's a nice gentleman, he is! Ye ought to be proud o' him." Annie straightened herself with her head thrown back. "Peter Malone," she burst out, "I came here to 'pologize, 'cause, without meanin' any harm, I thought as I'd hurt yer feelin's an' was owin' an explanation. I niver had anything to do with that groc'ry man nor any other man, an' ye know it as true as ye're standin' there. Instead o' believin' what I say like a gentleman would, ye insult me worse than anybody's iver done in the whole o' me life, an' I'll niver speak to ye again as long as I live." She choked down a sob, and with head erect turned and walked back to the house. The two had had differences before, but never anything like this. Peter, his arms dropped limply at his side, stood watching her go, while the words she had spoken rang in his ears. Suddenly a lump rose in his throat, and he leaned his head against the horse's neck. "Lord!" he whispered. "What have I done?" The week which followed was one of outward indifference and inward misery to both. Annie mourned when alone, but under the eyes of the stables she flirted openly and without conscience with one of the painters who was opportunely engaged in re-staining the shingle roof of the Jasper house. Peter watched her with a heavy heart, and formed a brave determination never to think of her again, and ended by thinking of her every minute of the day. He made one awkward attempt at reconciliation which was spurned, whereupon he, too, plunged into a reckless flirtation with Mary, the chambermaid, who was fat, and every day of thirty-five. As neither Peter nor Annie had any means of knowing how wretched this treatment was making the other, they got very little comfort from it. Annie sat at the kitchen table polishing silver with a sober face. It was six days since the grocery man's historic visit, and the war clouds showed no sign of lifting. There was a houseful of company at Willowbrook, and the work was mercifully distracting. Mary, this morning, had hung a long row of blankets and curtains on the line to air, for the sole purpose, Annie knew, of being near the stables. Peter was visible through the open window, greasing harness in the carriage-house doorway, and exchanging jocular remarks with Mary. Annie's eyes were out of doors oftener than upon her work. Nora, who was sitting on the back veranda shelling peas, remarked on Peter's newly awakened interest in the chambermaid, but as Annie did not answer, she very wisely changed the subject. "I guess that Mr. Lane what's visitin' here has got a heap o' money," she called in tentatively. "I guess he has," Annie assented indifferently.