"Will you? How kind!" said Juliet, turning to go. "But you won't mind if I consult Mrs. Fielding first? I must do that." He opened the door for her. "You are not to spoil her now," he said. "She's been spoilt all her life by everybody." "Except by you," said Juliet daringly. And with that parting shot she left him, swiftly traversing the hall to the stairs without looking back. The squire stood for some seconds looking after her. She had opposed him at practically every point, and yet she had not offended him. "A very remarkable young woman!" he said again to himself as she passed out of his sight. "A very--gifted young woman! Ah, Dick, my friend, she'd make a rare politician's wife." And then another thought struck him and he began to laugh. "And she'll be equally charming as the helpmeet of the village schoolmaster. Egad, we can't have everything, but I think you've found your fate." CHAPTER VI RECONCILIATION The luncheon-gong rang through the house with a tremendous booming, and Vera Fielding, sitting limply in a chair by her open window, closed her eyes with drawn brows as if the sound were too much for her overwrought nerves. The tempest of three hours before had indeed left her spent and shaken, and an unacknowledged tincture of shame mingling with her exhaustion did not improve matters. She had wept away her fury, and a dull resentment sat heavily upon her. She had entered upon the second stage of the conflict which usually lasted for some days,--days during which complete silence reigned between her husband and herself until he either departed to town to end the tension or his wrath boiled up afresh cowing her into a bitter submission to his will which brought nothing but misery to them both. The last deep notes of the gong died away, and Vera's eyes half-opened again. They dwelt restlessly upon the brilliant patch of garden visible under the lowered sun-blind. The splendour of the June world without served to increase the wretchedness of her mood by contrast. The sultry heat seemed to weigh her down. Life was one vast oppression and bondage. She was weary to the soul. Juliet had gone down to aid Cox in the selection of something tempting for her luncheon. She had every intention of refusing it whatever it was. Who as miserable as she could bear to eat anything--unless forced to do so by brutal compulsion? Her head throbbed painfully. Her nerves were stretched for the sound of her husband's step in the adjoining room. She wished she had told Juliet to lock the communicating door, though she hardly expected him to come in upon her a second time. Even his wrath had its limits. It seldom gathered to its full height twice in a day.