He paused a moment to pull off his glove, and grasp her hand. Ethel's fingers lay in his, not returning the pressure. He looked so bright, so pleased to be there. For one moment she could have believed it all a bad dream. But those words were with her still—he would never marry her! He did not really wish it! Not really! No; why should he? He was only her old kind affectionate playfellow; and she had to be the same to him, expecting nothing beyond, and taking care that nobody should think she could expect anything beyond. That last item was the difficulty—how to guard her own position, and yet not to give him pain. At the present moment such a line of conduct was not even possible. She had to give him pain; and at the very moment that her fingers touched his, the grave shadow which she so well know, and which she never could see without a heartache, crept over his eyes. "I'm come to bring part of your letter from Mr. Carden-Cox, posted to Daisy. He scorns to have been in a state of confusion. There was a postscript for Fulvia sent to me, and Daisy received this, which she says is yours. Daisy read it before she discovered the blunder, and she wants me to apologise." "Thanks," Ethel replied, taking the envelope. She did not look straight at him, after her wont, but leant against the wall, pale, and even a little breathless, as if she had been running uphill. It flashed across her mind that, if she followed Daisy's example, she would send to Daisy by Nigel the postscript which she had herself received. "But I cannot—cannot!" she cried to herself. "Impossible! I will send it back to Mr. Carden-Cox." Nigel stood gazing at Ethel, with a face of grieved surprise. He could not make her out. "You don't mind, I hope. Daisy did not find that it was meant for you till the end. Of course she will tell nobody what she has read." "Mind! Oh no! Mr. Carden-Cox's letters are not so very important—commonly." "It is not half-past seven yet. May I come in for a few minutes? We don't dine till eight," said Nigel, sorely chilled by her manner, yet hoping against hope that it might mean nothing. "Yes, of course. My mother is in the drawing-room." "And you will come too?" "I can't. Lance wants me; and I have to write a note for the post." "Just for a minute! The post doesn't go till eight." "Our pillar is emptied a quarter before; and Lance—" "Can't Lance wait?" "No; I have to help with his lessons." Dead silence for a moment. "Is anything wrong?" Nigel asked. Ethel lifted her eyes, giving him a calm return glance. She would not for the world have betrayed herself. "I ought to go to Lance." "And that is all?" Ethel could not answer in the affirmative. Silence was her response.