, and
apprehensive, above everything, that in some hidden manner she was being
untrue to her real self.

At such moments it was as though she had blinded some force within her,
muffled it, stifled it, because her way through the world was easier
with it so muffled, so stifled.

At some future time, what if there should leap out upon her that muffled
figure, bursting its bonds, refusing any longer to be silenced,
proclaiming the world no easy, comfortable place, but a battle, a
fierce, unresting war?

When she thought of Breton it was as though she knew herself for a
coward, as though he had threatened to expose her for one, and as though
(and this was the worst of all) something in her was eager that he
should--

Against this there was the peace, the security that Roddy could offer
her....

Beaminster security, perhaps--nevertheless....

They were at Trunton St. Perth. The little station glittered in the
evening air. It was all suddenly thrilling. Who would be there? What
might not happen before Monday?

II

In the high beautiful hall where they all stood about and had tea she
could see who they were. There was a girl whom she had met on several
occasions this season, Nita Raseley, there was a large florid cheerful
person who was, she discovered, Maurice Garden, the well-known and
popular novelist, there was his wife, there was a thin intellectual
cousin of Lady Massiter's, Miss Rawson, old and plain enough for her
cleverness to have turned to acidity, Roddy Seddon and, of course, Lord
and Lady Massiter.

Lord Massiter was large and florid like the novelist, and when they
stood together by the fireplace foreign customs and languages were
suddenly absurd, so English was the atmosphere. Lady Massiter was also
large, but she had the kind and warm placidity that makes some women the
type of all maternity. She would be, Rachel felt, a sure resource in all
time of trouble and she would also be entirely unsatisfactory as an
intimate personal friend. She would, like philanthropists and clergymen,
love people by the mass, never by the individual.

Nita Raseley was pink and white, with large blue eyes that confided in
everyone they looked at. Her laugh was a little shrill, her clothes very
beautiful, and men liked her.

So there they all were.

She had said good day to Roddy and then had moved away from him,
governed by some self-consciousness and the conviction that Nita
Raseley's blue eyes were upon her.