Lady Bassett, though ever-gracious, was seldom at her best in the morning.  She greeted the girl with a faint, wry smile, and proffered her nearest cheek to be kissed.

“Quite an early bird, dear child!” was her comment.  “I should imagine Captain Ratcliffe’s visitation awakened the whole neighbourhood.  I think you must not go out again with him before sunrise.  I should not have advised it this morning if you had consulted me.”

Muriel flushed at the softly-conveyed reproof.  “It is not the first time,” she said, in her deep voice that was always deepest when indignation moved her.  “We have seen the sun rise together and the moon rise too, before to-day.”

Lady Bassett sighed gently.  “I am sure, dearest,” she said, “that you do not mean to be uncouth or unmannerly, far less—­that most odious of all propensities in a young girl—­forward.  But though my authority over you were to be regarded as so slight as to be quite negligible, I should still feel it my duty to remonstrate when I saw you committing a breach of the conventions which might be grievously misconstrued.  I trust, dear Muriel, that you will bear my protest in mind and regulate your actions by it in the future.  Will you take coffee?”

Muriel had seated herself at the other side of the table, and was regarding her with wide, dark eyes that were neither angry nor ashamed, only quite involuntarily disdainful.

After a distinct pause she decided to let the matter drop, reflecting that Lady Bassett’s subtleties were never worth pursuing.

“I am going to see a friend of Nick’s this afternoon,” she said presently.  “I expect you know her—­Mrs. Musgrave.”

Lady Bassett’s forehead puckered a little.  It could hardly be called a frown.  “Have you ever met Mrs. Musgrave?” she asked.

“No, never.  But she is Nick’s friend, and of course I know her cousin, Captain Grange, quite well.”

Lady Bassett made no comment upon this.  “Of course, dear,” she said, “you are old enough to please yourself, but it is not usual, you know, to plunge into social pleasures after so recent a bereavement as yours.”

The sudden silence that followed this gentle reminder had in it something that was passionate.  Muriel’s face turned vividly crimson, and then gradually whitened to a startling pallor.

“It is the last thing I should wish to do,” she said, in a stifled voice.

Lady Bassett continued, softly suggestive.  “I say nothing of your marriage, dear child.  For that, I am aware, is practically a matter of necessity.  But I do think that under the circumstances you can scarcely be too careful in what you do.  Society is not charitably inclined towards those who even involuntarily transgress its rules.  And you most emphatically are not in a position to do so wilfully.”

She paused, for Muriel had risen unexpectedly to her feet.  Her eyes were blazing in her white face.