I was conscious of an inner fury when he said that. I turned on him. And all of a sudden, quite curiously, my feeling changed. His face showed not only utter innocence of any arrogance, the expression on it was of great misery. And this was so at odds with the roundness and the hint of dimples, the roughened hair that the damp air had begun to curl, that as I looked at him, I felt the queer, stirring-at-the-heart sort of softness perhaps only women know, when they catch a glimpse in some man's face of the child that died when he grew up. I could see just what Ranny had been like when he was in short dresses. Full of laughter; as he was still when we first knew him. And in face of those earlier bumps and bruises, just this bewilderment overmastering the pain of the baby who is outraged at the disproportion between desert and reward--the baby who thinks, if he doesn't say: "I never did a single thing, and here all this has tumbled down on my head." In that instant I saw how lovable Ranny Dallas was, and instead of reproaching him, I found myself saying: "If that's true--what you say--it is very horrible for the girl, but I see it is probably nearly as horrible for the man." And Ranny sat down on the wet heather under a gorse bush and buried his face in his hands. "Get up," I said; "here's my handkerchief. Get up quickly. Lady Helmstone is coming." But who was the man with her? It was Eric Annan. CHAPTER XX TWO INVITATIONS AND A CRISIS Before those two were visible to the group round Duncombe front door, or within hailing distance of us, they turned into the bypath leading to Big Klaus's. I could not tell whether Eric had seen us. But I was quite sure Lady Helmstone had. Sure, too, that she had deliberately avoided us. Ranny didn't want to come back with me, and I didn't press him. I promised him I would say he was going to walk across the heath to the inn--"_had_ to get back--expecting a telegram." I stayed behind in the gorse bushes alone, till I saw Lord Helmstone and all his party going home. . . . . . I couldn't bear the thought of meeting Betty. I went round by the kitchen and crept up the back stairs. I listened at my mother's door. Not a sound. Then I heard Betty downstairs playing the accompaniment to a song she and Ranny used to sing. So I opened my mother's door and went in. The first thing she said was, without any preface, "I know, now, why Lady Helmstone invited a child like Bettina to go yachting for six months rather than you." "So do I," I answered; "they all adore Bettina. And then she is Hermione's special friend." "There is another reason," my mother said, looking out of the window. "A reason that concerns--Lady Barbara." Then she glanced at me, a little shyly, and away her eyes went again to the window. "Lord Helmstone thinks a sea-voyage would be the best thing in the world for Mr. Annan. They are asking him to be one of the party."