ogs. He prophesied as much to the
squire's wife in less than the prescribed time, and she said that
"something ought to be done," and seizing on the word "dog" introduced
to his notice her two pet Chows. From time to time also Cassandra
helped her along with a few words, leaving Martin to make the
acquaintance of his right-hand neighbour, who had heard of his books,
and really must get them from the library. "Do you write under your own
name?"

Teresa sat like a poker, still and silent, vouchsafing monosyllabic
replies to the formalities of a county magnate, about whom she knew
everything, but who had got it firmly impressed into his sluggish brain
that she was someone else, and accordingly insisted upon referring to
people and incidents of whom she had never heard. Now and then came a
happy moment when Peignton gave her his attention, and smiled
encouragement into her eyes, but he was working hard to rouse a chilly
lady to animation, and even on occasion throwing an occasional bold
challenge across the table, where a couple seemed settling down into
permanent silence.

Teresa had the impression that Dane was putting aside his own amusement
as something entirely subservient to the general good. It was almost as
though he felt a responsibility, and was working for a reward. She
never suspected that the reward came more than once in a glance from
Cassandra's eyes, and a smile of appreciation flashed down the length of
table. Cassandra's head and neck rose above the banked-up flowers, her
cheeks were flushed, the stars of emeralds on her throat sent out green
flames of light, she looked brilliant and beautiful, a fitting
chatelaine for the stately old house, but it was not her beauty which
appealed to Peignton's heart; it was the subtle _want_ which
mysteriously he felt able to supply. He did not trouble himself to
enquire into the nature of this strong mutual sympathy, for he was a
practical man accustomed to do the next thing, and not trouble about the
future.

To-night Cassandra was a hostess struggling with an unusually depressing
set of guests, and he expended himself to help her. Looking up the
length of table, Grizel's face was like a flowering shrub in an avenue
of cedars. Peignton looked at her and felt a pang of something like
anger. _She_ was content enough! She had everything she wanted.
Things were cursedly unfair...

In the drawing-room Grizel as the bride was handed round for five-minute
co