day you will
understand, and be grateful to me."

She turned without allowing him time for a reply, and marched stiffly
across the lawn towards the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE CHAIN HOLDS.

The next day Cassandra was still confined to bed. Grizel said that it
would probably be some time before she was able to be about, and
announced her own intention of acting as nurse, while her husband played
golf with the Squire. So plain an intimation that visitors would be _de
trop_ went beyond a hint, and in truth Dane had already made up his mind
to return home by the first possible train. That being so, it was
obvious that Teresa must return with him, since it had been solely on
his account that she had been invited at all. Peignton looked across
the breakfast table around which the little party were seated, and
Teresa met his eye, and said instantly as though she had been waiting
for the sign:

"I think, Dane, it would be better if you and I went home this morning!
I am afraid we can do nothing to help, and shall only be in the way.
Could I have the carriage for the eleven o'clock train, Mrs Beverley?"

"I will come with you, of course," Dane added, and Grizel shrugged her
shoulders, and held out her hands with an eloquent little gesture of
appeal.

"Dear people, it's most inhospitable and horrid, but I think so too! I
shan't have a moment to spare. I expect we shall be rushing home
ourselves by the end of the week."

The Squire and Martin looked uncomfortable, but said nothing. Plainly
they also thought that the lovers would be better away, so Teresa
excused herself and went upstairs to pack her box, an operation which
she could not be persuaded to leave to a maid. With care and
contrivance she could contrive to give the effect of a wardrobe that was
sufficient, though not in any degree to be compared to those of her two
hostesses, but the gimlet-like eyes of a lady's maid would speedily
discover and despise the little contrivances inevitable to small means.
Teresa had the true middle-class dread of what servants would "think."
She had discussed with other Chumley girls the horror of staying in
houses where a maid "poked about." One friend in especial had recounted
a thrilling incident which had befallen her on a recent visit. For the
purpose of impressing the maid she had borrowed from a married sister
her very smartest "nightie," a cobweb confection of lawn and lace,
which, discreetly crumpled,