tter," Edward murmured, in the voice that propitiates
secresy.

"A letter?" she cried loud; and off flew the man like a rabbit into his
hole, the mask of him remaining.

Emilia presently found Mr. Barrett at her elbow. His hand clasped the
book Cornelia had placed in the tree.

"It is hers," said Emilia.

He opened it and pointed to his initials. She looked in his face.

"Are you very ill?"

Adela turned round from Edward's neighbouring head. "Who is ill?"

Cornelia brought Freshfield to a stop: "Ill?"

Before them all, book in hand, Mr. Barrett had to give assurance that
he was hearty, and to appear to think that his words were accepted, in
spite of blanched jowl and reddened under-lid. Cornelia threw him one
glance: his eyes closed under it. Adela found it necessary to address
some such comforting exclamation as 'Goodness gracious!' to her
observant spirit.

In the park-path, leading to the wood, Arabella was seen as they came
out the young branches that fringed the firs. She hurried up.

"I have been looking for you. Papa has arrived with Sir Twickenham
Pryme, who dines with us."

Adela unhesitatingly struck a blow.

"Lady Pryme, we make place for you."

And she crossed to Cornelia. Cornelia kept her eyes fixed on Adela's
mouth, as one looks at a place whence a venomous reptile has darted out.
Her eyelids shut, and she stood a white sculpture of pain, pitiable to
see. Emilia took her hand, encouraging the tightening fingers with a
responsive pressure. The group shuffled awkwardly together, though
Adela did her best. She was very angry with Mr. Barrett for wearing that
absurdly pale aspect. She was even angry with his miserable bankrupt
face for mounting a muscular edition of the smile Cornelia had shown.
"His feelings!" she cried internally; and the fact presented itself to
her, that feelings were a luxury utterly unfit for poor men, who were to
be accused of presumption for indulging in them.

"Now, I suppose you are happy?" she spoke low between Arabella and
Edward.

The effect of these words was to colour violently two pair of cheeks.
Arabella's behaviour did not quite satisfy the fair critic. Edward
Buxley was simply caught in a trap: He had the folly to imagine that by
laughing he released himself.

"Is not that the laugh of an engaged?" said Adela to Freshfield.

He replied: "That would have been my idea under other conditions," and
looked meaningly.

She met the look with: "There are ha