He did not speak. The buggy rattled up to the door, they heard Wooster's voice checking the horses, the mother's saying she would not get out as it was so late. 'Why don't you go?' he said coldly, seeing she stood perfectly still. 'I--' she said. It was the sound of a sob strangling in her throat. He would not help her though her eyes were speaking imploringly. If he had put his arms round her that minute and begged her as at tea to stay, even now she would have given it up. But he stood like a rock, his face hard, his chin square, his lips bitter. The bell rang, and Peggie's heel-down slippers went up the hall. Dot moved a step nearer to him. '_Ask_ me to stay, Larrie,' she whispered, and this time the sob would not be strangled. But he turned right away from her. 'I would rather die than ask you again,' he said with passion in his voice. 'Mr Wooster,' said Peggie cheerfully. She had quite beamed at the man when she opened the door, the quarrel would have to be smoothed over now a guest was here. But five minutes later Dot came out into the hall, her train a yard behind her, a great white fur-trimmed cloak around her. There was a beautiful angry colour in her cheeks, a defiant light in her eyes; but her lips were saying smiling things. Mr Wooster was behind with a roll of music and an opossum rug. Peggie watched them through the front door and down the steps, she saw Dot lifted in beside her mother and well tucked up; she watched the buggy lamps flash passing out of the gates and disappear round a curve in the road. Then with quite a weight at her kindly heart, she went in to see if the 'poor master' wanted anything. But he was standing in the middle of the room with folded arms, and such a look on his face, that she shut the door softly behind her, and went away. CHAPTER X A DARN ON A DRESS 'Come in at last, Inside the melancholy little house We built to be so gay with.' It was raining again, and there was that sound of wind in the trees that only the Australian bush knows. Eastward, stars were out in the sky, but, from the south, blue-grey masses were drifting up to the low rain cloud that had put out all the lights of the southern cross, and only left the two pale pointers. An hour ago the sky had been blue, for there was a great moon, but now the rain had washed all the colour out of it, and it was dull grey with midnight cloud banks. On the cottage roof and in the garden there were patches of pale light from the drenched moon, but all the bush beyond was black as death. 'Don't come in,' Dot said. She leaped down from her seat before Wooster could put down the reins to open the gate and drive in. 'She'll get wet,' the mother cried. But the white figure went hurrying up the drive, all its long silken train down on the wet gravel.