“I do, Charles,” she said earnestly. “No, nothing. You haven’t time to think of anybody but yourself. And now I must go and look after all these people. You’d better come and have an ice.” There was ice at her heart and she realized now that her past unhappiness had been half false; she had been waiting for him all the time and trusting to his next sight of her to put things right, but she had failed with him, too. In that dim tool-house she had stood before him in her pretty dress, smiling down at him, surely irresistible, and he had resisted. Well, she could resist, too, and she walked calmly by his side, holding her head very high, and when he parted from her with a grave bow, she felt a great, an awed respect for him. She went to find her Aunt Sophia, who was still sitting under the tree, surrounded by a chattering group. She looked tired, and, signalling for Henrietta to approach, she said, “I’m afraid this is too much for me, dear child. Can you find Rose and ask her to take me home? But I don’t want to spoil your pleasure, Henrietta. There is no need for you to come.” Henrietta’s lip twisted with dramatic bitterness. There was no pleasure left for her. “I would rather go back with you, Aunt Sophia. Let us go now.” “No, no. Find Rose.” There was another buffet in the face. It was Rose who was wanted and Henrietta, walking swiftly, crossed the lawn again, casting quick glances right and left. Rose was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps, for their ways had an odd habit of following the same path, she was in the tool-house with Francis Sales, but as she turned to go there, the voice of Mrs. Batty, husky with exhaustion and heat, said in her ear, “Is it your Aunt Rose you are looking for, love? I think I saw her go into the house, and I wish I could go myself. It’s so hot that I really feel I may have a fit.” Henrietta went into the cool, shaded drawing-room on light feet, and there, against the window, she saw her Aunt Rose in an attitude startlingly unfamiliar. She was standing with her hands clasped before her, and she gazed down at them lost in thought—or prayer. Her body, so upright and strong, seemed limp and broken, and her face, which was calm, yet had the look of having composed itself after pain. There was no one else in the room, but Henrietta had the strong impression that someone had lately passed through the door. She was afraid to disturb that moment in which an escaped soul seemed to be fluttering back into its place, but Rose looked up and saw her and Henrietta, advancing softly as though towards a person who was dead, stopped within a foot of her. Then, without thought and obeying an uncontrollable impulse, she stepped forward and laid her cheek against her aunt’s. Rose’s hands dropped apart and, one arm encircling Henrietta’s waist, she held her close, but only for a minute. It was Henrietta who broke away, saying, “Aunt Sophia sent me to look for you. She doesn’t feel well.” § 12