He broke off, shuddering, and Gundred could see that at the bare notion of such a catastrophe the old white, shivering terror had laid hold of him. She had heard before of these strange, inherited passions, prenatal, ineradicable, but this was the first instance she had ever met with, and it filled her with interest now that she realized that its victim was a man of her own order, and as such, of course, not to be classed in the common rank of cowards. Her subconscious fear and dislike of Ivor Restormel still held their place in her mind, but they had retired to the background of her thought for the moment, leaving room for the curiosity that his identity and his idiosyncrasy aroused. ‘So very dreadful,’ she murmured, ‘for your poor mother. I had not realized that dear Mary had been so much upset by that awful fire. You know, Mr. Restormel, I feel as if we were quite old friends, you and I. As you say, I cannot help feeling, after all, that we have got some of the responsibility to bear for the odd feelings that you have inherited. You have had quite a distressing legacy from those old wooden rooms at Brakelond--yes?’ Laudably, deliberately friendly, Gundred raised her neat smile to meet Ivor Restormel’s gaze. He was looking at her full, with his deep grey eyes, true and honest, and altogether pleasant. Yet, as she met their glance, suddenly the instinctive hostility surged up into Gundred’s mind with redoubled strength. Fear and dislike seized her. She could not bear that glance, could not tolerate her neighbour’s presence. She turned away her head with a sensation of almost terrified hostility. What was this imperious repulsion that now held her--the first emotion that had ever threatened to pass the limits of her self-control? She could not understand it; never before had she felt anything even remotely resembling this blind, paradoxical dislike. Perhaps, years since, her bitter memories of Isabel had been tinged with the same unreasoning horror, but those far-off qualms had been faint and colourless compared with the vehement feeling now aroused in her by this beautiful and harmless stranger. She stiffened herself to show a firm front; self-contempt began to stir in her. Why, had it come to this, that she, Lady Gundred Darnley, the model of deportment and nice tact, now wished publicly to violate her own code, to be rude and inconsiderate to a person who on all counts, as being unobjectionable, a fellow-guest, and an equal, claimed her consideration and her courtesy? Such a lapse could never be permitted. She must fight down this folly, and be kind to Ivor Restormel through the rest of this nightmare meal. Then she would leave the house as soon as she could, and pray Heaven that she might never set eyes on him again.