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“Do we?” In spite of himself Charles laughed.

“You do!” Carl insisted. “Now with us, we scramble to get the first word in! So long as you get the last one, you don’t worry. And,” he finished explosively, “your way works!”

“Does it?” Suddenly Charles’s eyes glinted with excitement. “Does it? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure!” Carl said laconically.

Suddenly Charles grinned.

“Thanks,” he said warmly. “That was what I was wanting to know.”

He ran down the steep incline, and Carl Brand watched him with a peculiar smile on his lips.

“I wish the storm would break,” Judith said impatiently.

She and Desmond had been playing tennis on the Windygates court. Now they were sitting on the terrace watching the sunset, a fiery, ominous thing.

Desmond did not reply.

Judith had been strung up all the afternoon, and more than once he had been at a loss to know what to do or say to her. Several times he had spoken to her and she had not seemed to hear. Now, sitting beside him, she was restless and ill at ease.

Suddenly she seemed to realise how difficult she was being, and she turned to him impetuously.

“Sorry, Des, I’m being a pest,” she said contritely.

He smiled at her.

“I feel rather like exploding myself,” he admitted. “I expect it is the storm. Let’s try to forget it! What have you been doing all day?”

“Oh—nothing much,” Judith said indifferently. “You see, there isn’t much point in putting myself out now, is there?”

Desmond hesitated.

“Judith, are you really sure you want to sell Windygates?”

“Absolutely certain!” she said promptly. “That is quite settled, Des. You don’t have to worry about that! I’ve made up my mind.”

That silenced him. Judith had made up her mind, and . it was not for him to try to dissuade her. It stung a little, but there was nothing he could say, he knew, that would change her mind. She had always been like that, just as her father had. He could either accept it or

With forced brightness she said:

“Tell me what you have been doing.”

“I?” he laughed. “Nothing that would interest you very much! Helping Linda clear out the cellar. Going into Wyford to buy stores, peeling potatoes for our dinner this evening—not much of a day’s work for a man, is it?”

Judith was silent.

“Des, do you wish I wasn’t selling Windygates?” she asked at length. “I mean, it isn’t as if you could really take over, could you?”

He laughed shortly.

“No, you’re quite right; I’m not much use. I wonder you bother with me!”

“Oh, Des!” she protested. And then, hesitatingly: “Des, I know it can’t be easy for you. Me being the one –"

“That has got the money?” he finished. “No, it isn’t. I never thought I was so thin-skinned.”

“I thought—” she went on slowly, “that when we are married we could make some arrangement so that you didn’t feel you had got to ask—”

He got up and went to the wide stone balustrade at the edge of the terrace. He had been right when he had said that he did not know that he was so thin-skinned. He had thought that it would be quite easy to take from a rich wife, but Judith was being so decent. In trying to make it easy for him she was making it all the harder.

Suddenly he turned. He was being a fool. Judith had not agreed to marry him just to please him. She was getting something out of it herself—escape, companionship—he did not know. But he need not feel guilty about it. After all, he really cared for her.

He fumbled in his pocket.

“Judith—I’ve got something here—it was Mother’s,
but I thought in the meantime—I’ll have the stones reset or something while you are away.”

A diamond ring sparkled in the palm of his hand. He took Judith’s small brown hand in his and slipped the ring on to her engagement finger. She let him do it without protest, and when he drew her to him and gently kissed her, she still yielded unquestioningly. He even thought that he felt her lips move under his, but if so, it was the passionless kiss of a child.

He let her go and stood up.

“I’ll be getting off now,” he said somewhat uncertainly. “Be seeing you to-morrow evening!”

“Yes,” she said mechanically. “To-morrow evening!”

When he got home, one glance told Linda that he was in a bad mood. And knowing where he had been, it was not difficult to guess what was the matter. For a time she did not speak. Then, at last, she could restrain herself no more.

“Des, why don’t you call it off?” she asked.

He started at the sound of her voice.

“Call what off?” he demanded.

“The engagement,” she said impatiently. “You know as well as I do that it won’t work out.”

Desmond stared at her.

“Do you know what you are saying?” he asked.

“The last thing you ever expected to hear me say,” she nodded. “Well, you ought to take all the more notice because of that.”

“Well, I’m not going to!” he said loudly. “Understand that? I don’t know what tricks you are up to now, but—don’t interfere with my affairs! Understand? Judith and I are engaged and we are going to get married. Nothing is going to alter that!”

And leaving Linda to her thoughts, he swung angrily out of the little room.

WHEN Judith dressed on the night of the party the storm had still not broken. Both the previous night and now there was a grumble of thunder in the distance, but still nothing really came of it.

Both up here and downstairs all the windows and doors were open, but in spite of that there was no movement of the air.

For a long time Judith sat at the window in her dressing-gown, hardly conscious of actual thought but feeling herself part of the heavy air and the threatening sky. Soon something must happen, otherwise even mere existence would be impossible.

Vaguely she was aware that the stable clock struck the half-hour and the three-quarters. Then it chimed the hour and she knew that she could delay no longer. The guests—the last ones that she would ever entertain at Windygates—would begin to arrive in another half-hour and she must be ready to receive them.

She slipped off her severe dressing-gown and put on a set of the undies that she and her aunt had selected when they were in town. They had been absurdly expensive, but perhaps justifiably so, for they were exquisitely fragile and beautifully made. But to-night, for all the pleasure they gave Judith, they might as well have been sackcloth. Sheer nylons,' high-heeled white shoes—they gave her an unfamiliar feeling of being tipped forward, for usually she wore very flat heels. Then the pretty white
broderie anglaise
dress that she had so enjoyed buying. As she slipped it over her head she remembered that she had fold herself once that when she was wearing this, everything would be all right. It was that sort of dress. Her mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. How silly she had been, how childish. As if clothes could make any difference.

She ran a comb carelessly through her dark curls and regarded the result in the mirror. She supposed she ought to wear make-up—other girls did. But the only time she had ever powdered her nose her father had laughed at her. She had never done it again. Now she wished that she knew all about that sort of thing. It would be a sort of mask behind which one could hide. But she was too much afraid of her own ignorance to risk it. To make a mess of it would be worse than not having any on at all. Then suddenly she changed her mind. From a drawer she took out a lipstick that she had bought in town but never used. Carefully she performed the unfamiliar task and observed the result in the glass. It seemed to make her mouth stand out with unfamiliar clarity, but it was rather striking. It made her look quite different.

From a side-table she took a spray of red roses that Desmond had sent to her. She laid them against her shoulder and saw that they matched the lipstick. It was just luck, of course, but probably people would think that she was rather clever to have thought of it. Carefully she pinned the flowers into place, and shivered a little. Against the whiteness of her dress they looked like great drops of blood.

Abruptly she turned away from the dressing-table. That was all. She was ready to go downstairs now. Miss Harriet had suggested that she should have her mother’s pearls out of the bank vaults, but she had decided not to. They would be starting so early the following day that it would be a nuisance to get them back to the bank before leaving. She certainly had no wish to be burdened by the care of them while she was travelling.

At the door she turned abruptly and came back into the room. She had forgotten Desmond’s ring.

From the top of the stairs she could hear Miss Harriet’s voice as she and the housekeeper discussed the final arrangements. Then she went slowly downstairs. She had no inclination to hurry, but in any case it would have been impossible to do so. Those heels had been difficult enough to manage on a level floor. On the stairs they felt downright dangerous.

She hesitated as she came to the door of the big drawing-room. With the carpets rolled up and most of the furniture moved to the sides of the room it looked unfamiliar and vast. Miss Harriet looked up and saw her. She herself was wearing a silvery-grey dress, and pinned to it were delicate pink roses that had been Mr. Bellairs’ gift. She had felt pleasantly excited as she had dressed, for it was not often that occasion arose for wearing formal evening dress nowadays, and with all the excitement of a girl in her teens she had dressed with the knowledge of how she would look to the man she loved.

But now, looking at Judith’s unsmiling face, her heart sank. Nothing was to be gained though by commenting on it, so she said as naturally as she was able:

“The dress looks delightful,” and turned back to her tasks.

Soon the guests began to arrive, and among the first were Desmond and Linda. Desmond, of course, in conventional evening dress, Linda in a midnight blue dress that had the strange effect of making her seem part of the background, and Miss Harriet found herself wondering if the girl realised Jt. If. so, it indicated a most unusual state of mind in a girl who so persistently stole the limelight as a rule.

Gravely and correctly Judith received congratulations. She and Desmond stood side by side, and it was a far less difficult situation than she had anticipated, for everyone said the same sort of thing and it became almost mechanical to reply adequately. Only Charles’s good wishes were different. He bent over her hand as if he were going to kiss it and involuntarily she drew it back a little. Then he straightened up and said so quietly that even Desmond did not hear:

“I hope that the future will hold far more happiness for you than you imagine to be possible!”

Then he turned away to speak to Miss Harriet, and Desmond had to touch Judith gently on the arm to remind her that there were other guests to greet.

At last the dancing began and Judith led off with Desmond. It was something of an ordeal to her to be the first on the floor, for she was painfully conscious that she was not a good dancer. It was a form of entertainment that had never appealed to her particularly and she had just not bothered about it. Desmond, on the other hand, was a good dancer, but not so good that he could make up for the deficiencies in his partner. He was rather inclined to introduce difficult steps, and more than once Judith stumbled. He murmured the usual polite “Sorry,” but Judith became increasingly conscious that he was finding the situation difficult, and it was something of a relief when the dance came to an end. After that there were duty dances for both of them and it was not until some time later that they were together again.

Desmond was mopping his forehead.

“Goodness, it’s hot! What about going out on to the terrace?”

Judith went out silently with him, but when they had found two empty chairs she blurted out uncomfortably:

“I’m sorry I am so clumsy. I expect I could take lessons, couldn’t I?”

“Darling Judith!” He took her hand in his and pressed it gently. “That’s a lovely idea. We’ll both take lessons. It’s the only way to keep up to date. How would you like, when you come back, to spend a while in London? You enjoyed the little you saw of it with Miss Harriet, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Judith admitted. “I did—though it was very stuffy after living here.” She caught herself up. She was not coming back to Windygates, so that was a silly thing to say. “I expect I shall soon get used to that, though.” she finished quickly.

Desmond laughed.

“I want you to do more than get used to it,” he told her. “I want you to have the time of your life! We’ll go over to Paris as well, shall we? And some time or other we’ll do the winter sports—you’ve no idea how marvellous it is to be surrounded by miles and miles of crisp white snow; it never seems to get muddy there as it does in this country, with the sun shining on it and making it sparkle like diamonds. You’ll like that, Judith!”

“Go on,” she said almost in a whisper.

“About the things we will do?” he asked. “Well— how about going to Palm Beach? You can swim, can’t you?”

“Yes,” she said briefly. It was one of the things that her father had insisted on her learning. She had been terrified, but greater than her fear of the water had been her fear of his sarcasm.

“We’ll go just where the spirit moves us,” he went on softly. “You and I, Judith.”

She leaned forward a little, peering into the gathering darkness. There was something white gleaming out there in the garden. A man’s white shirt-front—faintly she could hear the sound of two voices, but the woman was strangely invisible. Then there was the little rasp of a cigarette-lighter and Linda’s face sprang momentarily into sharp relief. The man was Charles, of course. She could tell him by his height. Besides, what more natural than that they should seek one another’s company?

She turned to Desmond and laid her hand on his arm.

“Yes, we
will
have a good time, Des! And nothing and nobody shall stop us, shall they?”

For a second he paused, then: