He had raised no definite objection to this present visit of hers.  Mrs. Errol had, in her own inimitable fashion, silenced him, but she had known that she had gone against his wish.  And it was in consequence of this knowledge that she was returning so early, though she did not expect him back till night.  He should have no rational cause for complaint against her.  For such causes as his fevered brain created she could not hold herself responsible.

It was hard to lead such a life without becoming morbid, but Anne was fashioned upon generous lines.  She strove ever to maintain the calm level of reason wherewith to temper the baleful influence of her husband’s caprice.  She never argued with him; argument was worse than futile.  But steadfastly and incessantly she sought by her moderation to balance the difficulties with which she was continually confronted.  And to a certain extent she succeeded.  Open struggles were very rare.  Sir Giles knew that there was a limit to her submission, and he seldom, if ever now, attempted to force her beyond that limit.

But she knew that a visit from Nap would place her in an intolerable position, and with all her heart she hoped that her caution of the previous day had taken effect.  Though utterly reckless on his own account, she fancied that she had made an impression upon him, and that he would not act wholly without consideration for her.  In bestowing her friendship upon him she had therewith reposed a confidence which his invariable compliance with her wishes had seemed to warrant.  She did not think that her trust would ever prove to have been misplaced.  But she was sorry, unquestionably she was sorry, to have left without bidding him farewell.  It might be long ere they would meet again.

And with the thought yet in her mind she looked out of the window in front of her, and saw his slim, supple figure, clad in a white sweater, shoot swiftly down a snow-draped slope ahead of her, like a meteor flashing earthwards out of the blue.

His arms were extended; his movements had a lithe grace that was irresistibly fascinating to the eye.  Slight though he was, he might have been a young god descending on a shaft of sunshine from Olympus.  But the thought that darted all unbidden through Anne’s mind was of something far different.  She banished it on the instant with startled precipitancy; but it left a scar behind that burned like the sudden searing of a hot iron.  “I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.”

The car was stopping.  The figure on skis was waiting motionless by the roadside.  It ran smoothly up to him and stopped.

“Dramatic, wasn’t it?” smiled Nap.  “Did you think you were going to escape without another word?”

“I had almost begun to think so,” she admitted, smiling also.

He stooped to take off the skis, then stepped to the door.  He leaned towards her.  There was no faintest sign of cynicism in his face that day.  He was in the mood of good comradeship in which she liked him best.