upon
you deliberately." And that she should have had this instinct of putting
her sisters in the wrong prepared her for something unpleasant, that and
the fuss her mother was making over the tea-tray. Pauline was more than
ever grateful to the impulse which had not allowed Guy to change his
mind and come back with her. As soon as tea was over Margaret and Monica
went away to practise a duet; and in the manner of their going from the
room Pauline felt the louring of the atmosphere.

Her mother began at once:

"Pauline, I'm surprised at your going into the Abbey with Guy."

"Well, it was really an accident. I mean it was because we wanted not to
meet any of the Brydones, who were rushing at us from every side."

Pauline tried to laugh, but her mother looked down at the milk-jug and
flushed nearly to crimson in the embarrassment of something she was
forcing herself to say.

"It's not merely going into the Abbey ... no ... not merely that ... no,
not merely going into the Abbey ... but to let Guy make love to you like
that is so vulgar. Pauline, it's the sort of way that servants behave
when they're in love."

She sprang from the window-seat.

"Mother, what do you mean?"

"Margaret and Monica saw you sitting on Guy's knee. In any case I would
rather you never did that. In any case ... yes ... but in a place where
people passing might have seen ... yes, would have seen ... oh, it was
inexcusable. I shall have to make much stricter rules...."

"Are you going to speak to Guy about this?" Pauline asked. The house
seemed to be whirling away like a leaf, such a shattering of her love
were these words of her mother.

"How can I speak to Guy about it?" Mrs. Grey demanded, irritably. "How
can I, Pauline? It has nearly choked me to speak to you."

"I think Monica and Margaret are almost wicked!" Pauline cried in
flames. "They are trying to destroy everything. They are, they are. No,
Mother, you sha'n't defend them. I knew they felt guilty when they went
out of the room like that. How dare they put horrible thoughts in your
mind? How dare they? They're cruel to me. And you're cruel to me. I
don't understand what's happening to everybody. You'll make me hate you
all, if you speak like that!"

She rushed from the nursery and went first to the music-room, where
Margaret was sounding deep notes, hanging over her violoncello, and
where Monica was playing one of those contained, somewhat frigid
accompaniments.

"Margaret an