companionship with Anne.  His conscience was appeased by Maisie’s coldness, and Jerrold told himself that the life he led now was the best possible life for a sane man.  His mind was clear and keen; his body was splendidly fit; his love for Anne was perfect, his companionship with her was perfect, their understanding of each other was perfect.  They would never be tired of each other and never bored.  He rode with her over the hills and tramped with her through the furrows in all weathers.

At times he would approach her through some sense, sharper than sight or touch, that gave him her inmost immaterial essence.  She would be sitting quietly in a room or standing in a field when suddenly he would be thus aware of her.  These moments had a reality and certainty more poignant even than the moment of his passion.

At last they ceased to think about their danger.  They felt, ironically, that they were protected by the legend that made Anne and Colin lovers.  In the eyes of the Kimbers and Nanny Sutton and the vicar’s wife, and the Corbetts and Hawtreys and Markhams, Jerrold was the stern guardian of his brother’s morals.  They were saying now that Captain Fielding had put a stop to the whole disgraceful affair; he had forced Colin to leave the Manor Farm house; and he had taken over the estate in order to keep an eye on his brother and Anne Severn.

Anne was not concerned with what they said.  She felt that Jerrold and she were safe so long as she didn’t know Maisie.  It never struck her that Maisie would want to know her, since nobody else did.

iv

But Maisie did want to know Anne and for that reason.  One day she came to Jerrold with the visiting cards.

“The Corbetts and Hawtreys have called.  Shall I like them?”

“I don’t know. I won’t have anything to do with them.”

“Why not?”

“Because of the beastly way they’ve behaved to Anne Severn.”

“What have they done?”

“Done?  They’ve been perfect swine.  They’ve cut her for five years because she looked after Colin.  They’ve said the filthiest things about her.”

“What sort of things?”

“Why, that Colin was her lover.”

“Oh Jerrold, how abominable.  Just because she was a saint.”

“Anne wouldn’t care what anybody said about her.  My mother left her all by herself here to take care of him and she wouldn’t leave him.  She thought of nothing but him.”

“She must be a perfect angel.”

“She is.”

“But about these horrible people—­what do you want me to do?”

“Do what you like.”

“I don’t want to know them.  I’m thinking what would be best for Anne.”

“You needn’t worry about Anne.  It isn’t as if she was your friend.”

“But she is if she’s yours and Colin’s.  I mean I want her to be....  I think I’d better call on these Corbett and Hawtrey people and just show them how we care about her.  Then cut them dead afterwards if they aren’t decent to her.  It’ll be far more telling than if I began by being rude....  Only, Jerrold, how absurd—­I don’t know Anne. She hasn’t called yet.”