In the old days at Knock Castle Esmeralda's tantrums had been accepted as part of the daily life, but six years spent in the sunshine of Bridgie's home made a difference between husband and wife seem something abnormal and shocking. Imagine Dick sneering at Bridgie! Imagine Bridgie snapping back and relapsing into haughty indifference! The thing was preposterous, unthinkable! Could that be the reason of Esmeralda's unrest, that she and her husband had outgrown their love? Pixie felt it equally impossible at that moment to sit quietly alone, or to talk naturally to her fellow-guests, but experience had proved that the most absolutely certain method of getting out of herself was to court the society of children. So she shut herself in the nursery with the two small boys, who took eery advantage of the unexpected treat without troubling their heads as to how it had come about. Meantime the three guests started off on the usual morning peregrination of the grounds, and Joan followed her husband to his study, found him staring aimlessly out of the window, and accosted him in cold and biting tones. "Geoffrey, I wish to speak to you. You are entitled to your own opinions, but the next time that you find them in opposition to mine I should be obliged if you would reserve your remarks until we are alone. If you have no consideration for me, you might at least consider your guests; it cannot be agreeable for them to overhear our differences." Geoffrey did not move. He stood with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, his head drooping forward on his breast, an air of weariness and depression in every line of his figure. For a minute there was silence, then he spoke, slowly, and with frequent breaks, as though considering each word as it came-- "That is true.--I was to blame.--I should have waited, as you say.--It shall not occur again, Joan. I apologise." Esmeralda looked at him. The fire died from her eyes, her lips trembled. Quick to anger, she was equally quick to penitence, and a soft word could melt her hardest mood. She made a very lovely picture at that moment, but her husband's back was still turned. He kept his head rigorously turned aside as he crossed to his desk and seated himself on his swivel chair. "I have ordered the car for eleven, as you wished." "Thank you." Joan knew herself to be dismissed, but she had no intention of obeying. For her impetuous nature half-measures did not exist, and a peace that was not peace with honour seemed unworthy the name. She leaned over her husband's desk, facing him with earnest eyes. "Geoffrey! Why were you so cross? It was unreasonable. I shall do quite well at my stall. People are sick to death of cushions and cosies, but they will snap at my beautiful things from abroad, which they don't often have a chance of buying." "I am sure of it." "Then why--why--? What on earth put you into such a bait?"