truth from Teresa's lips, but there were
occasions when she burned to tell him herself, occasions when it would
have been the greatest relief in the world to say, "I am not ill. I am
not suffering from shock. I am in love. I want to elope with your
friend Dane Peignton. I am breaking my heart because it's my duty to
stay."

Imagination pictured his face as he stood and listened. The steely
eyes, the glint of teeth, the ruddy colour surging up over the thick
throat, the large clean-shaven face, up to the roots of the short sandy
hair. "You can look me in the face," he would say, "and _dare_ to say
such a thing? Have you no shame?"

"Why should I have shame?" she could hear herself answer. "I have done
no wrong. I am breaking my heart to do what is right. I am not
ashamed, but I am dreadfully, dreadfully unhappy!" But Bernard would
have no compassion. He would make no distinctions. She would
henceforth be contemptible in his eyes. To the end of their life
together he would regard her with suspicion; enquiring into her every
action, reading guilt into the simplest friendship. The horror of that
suspicion sealed Cassandra's lips.

The days passed by, Wednesday arrived, and Teresa had not moved.
Cassandra vouchsafed a grudging admiration. There was--as Grizel had
said--something fine about the girl's restraint. What was she thinking,
what was she doing all these days, when of a certainty Dane must be
standing aloof, waiting for the message which never came? How could she
bear it, caged in that tiny house, with the terrible mother probing for
explanations? Cassandra recalled how Mary had declared that it was
impossible even to cry without attracting curious rappings at the door.
She heaved a sigh of thankfulness for the blessing of space.

Wednesday morning passed by, lunch hour came bringing with it Bernard,
and the inevitable enquiry _re_ tonics, two o'clock arrived, three
o'clock. In another half-hour she would leave the house, take her way
to the summer-house, meet Dane once more, look deep into his eyes, feel
the clasp of his arms. All life seemed concentrated into those next few
hours, the expectation had been in her heart since the moment when she
had parted from him four days before; the near prospect of meeting had
mitigated every pang. Now that that meeting was at hand every other
feeling was merged in joy. The moment was hers, she seized it greedily,
with no consciousness of guilt. She w