niffed, a would-be modest, yet well-pleased sniff, which seemed
to say that though it would not become her to endorse Joan's opinion of
her talents, truth would not permit her to deny it.

"I know nothing for certain yet," she said darkly, "but I am on the
watch. Miss Carson is not all she seems, mark my words."

The early dinner was rather an ordeal for Margaret. All the members of
the family, including her two small pupils, who sat one on each side of
her and behaved beautifully, were present, besides Anna Finch and a
couple of Geoffrey's friends, motor-bicycle enthusiasts like himself, who
had come over from Brighton that morning on their machines.

Had Margaret only been allowed to eat her dinner in silence she would not
have found the meal as terrifying as she did. Hilary, it was, who would
not permit that, for the second Miss Danvers sat opposite to her, and
whenever there was a lull in the conversation she would lean across the
table and ask Margaret questions about Hampstead. The questions were
asked in such apparent innocence that none of the others guessed that she
was trying to catch her out in her answers. But Margaret was only too
miserably aware of that fact, and she wondered what it was that she could
have said or done to raise suspicions about herself before she had even
been twenty-four hours in the house. Hilary's sidelong glances and
meaningly put questions worked upon her to such a pitch that she expected
to hear her say any moment that an imposter sat at their table in the
guise of Eleanor Carson. But she need not have feared such an immediate
denouncement. Hilary's suspicions had by no means reached that point yet;
even if they had she would not have given voice to them. She was enjoying
her cat-and-mouse game far too much to wish to bring it to an end as yet,
and several days went by without her doing more than making Margaret as
uncomfortable as she could by sly questions and glances. Sometimes a
whole meal would pass without her addressing a single word to Margaret,
then, as the latter would begin to feel that her vague alarms were
groundless, and that Hilary suspected nothing, sudden allusion to
Hampstead, or the school where she was supposed to have taught so long,
would set her trembling again.

In short, Hilary contrived to make Margaret's life a burden to her, and
one night, the fourth since she had come to The Cedars, Margaret resolved
that she could stand it no longer. She would make a