ir coverings of scarlet and of grey, showed a contrast
almost cruelly vivid. Antonia was flushed, her eyes had grown deep blue;
her look of startled doubt had passed and left a question in her face.

"Would you like to come in and wait? We could send you home, in the
brougham," she said.

The lady called Mrs. Foliot stood, one arm across the crupper of her
saddle, biting her lips and smiling still her enigmatic smile, and it was
her face that stayed most vividly on Shelton's mind, its ashy hail, its
pallor, and fixed, scornful eyes.

"Oh, no, thanks! You're very kind."

Out of Antonia's face the timid, doubting friendliness had fled, and was
replaced by enmity. With a long, cold look at both of them she turned
away. Mrs. Foliot gave a little laugh, and raised her foot for Shelton's
help. He heard a hiss of pain as he swung her up, but when he looked at
her she smiled.

"Anyway," he said impatiently, "let me come and see you don't break
down."

She shook her head. "It 's only two miles. I'm not made of sugar."

"Then I shall simply have to follow."

She shrugged her shoulders, fixing her resolute eyes on him.

"Would that boy like to come?" she asked.

Toddles left the horse's head.

"By Jove!" he cried. "Would n't I just!"

"Then," she said, "I think that will be best. You 've been so kind."

She bowed, smiled inscrutably once more, touched the Arab with her whip,
and started, Toddles trotting at her side.

Shelton was left with Antonia underneath the elms. A sudden puff of
tepid air blew in their faces, like a warning message from the heavy,
purple heat clouds; low rumbling thunder travelled slowly from afar.

"We're going to have a storm," he said.

Antonia nodded. She was pale now, and her face still wore its cold look
of offence.

"I 've got a headache," she said, "I shall go in and lie down."

Shelton tried to speak, but something kept him silent--submission to what
was coming, like the mute submission of the fields and birds to the
menace of the storm.

He watched her go, and went back to his seat. And the silence seemed to
grow; the flowers ceased to exude their fragrance, numbed by the weighty
air. All the long house behind him seemed asleep, deserted. No noise
came forth, no laughter, the echo of no music, the ringing of no bell;
the heat had wrapped it round with drowsiness. And the silence added to
the solitude within him. What an unlucky chance, that woman's accident!