But, during the course of luncheon, that afore-mentioned split in Miss Verity’s sympathies was fated to declare itself with ever growing distinctness.  The stream consecrated to Theresa’s woes—­Theresa herself being no longer materially present—­declined in volume and in force, while that commanded by Felicia’s affection for her brother soon rushed down in spate.  Perhaps, as she told herself, it was partly owing to the light—­which, if pensive upstairs in the white-walled schoolroom, might, without exaggeration, be called quite dismally gloomy in the low-ceilinged dining-room looking out on the black mass of the ilex trees over a havoc of storm-beaten flower-beds—­but Sir Charles struck her as so worn, so aged, so singularly and pathetically sad.  He was still so evidently oppressed by anxiety concerning Damaris that, to hint at harsh action on his part, or plead Theresa’s cause with convincing earnestness and warmth, became out of the question.  Miss Verity hadn’t the heart for it.

“Be true to your profession of good Samaritan, my dear Felicia,” he begged her with a certain rueful humour, “and take the poor foolish woman off my hands.  Plant her where you like, so long as it is well out of my neighbourhood.  She has made an egregious fiasco of her position here.  As you love me, just remove her from my sight—­let this land have rest and enjoy its Sabbaths in respect of her at least.  I’ll give you a cheque for her salary, something in excess of the actual amount if you like; for, heaven forbid, you should be out of pocket yourself as a consequence of your good offices.—­Now let us, please, talk of some less unprofitable subject.”

Brightly, sweetly eager, Miss Verity hastened to obey, as she believed, his concluding request.

“Ah! yes,” she said, “that reminds me of something about which I do so want you to enlighten me.—­This young Captain Faircloth, who so opportunely appeared on the scene and rescued darling Damaris, I believe I met him this morning, as I walked up from the front gate.  I wondered who he was.  His appearance interested me, so did his voice.  It struck me as being so quaintly like some voice I know quite well—­and I stupidly cannot remember whose.”

The coffee-cups chattered upon the silver tray as Hordle handed it to Miss Verity.

“You spoke to him then?” Sir Charles presently said.

“Oh! just in passing, you know, about the weather—­which was phenomenally bad, raining and blowing too wildly at the moment.  I supposed you had seen him.  He seemed to be coming away from the house.”

Charles Verity turned sideways to the table, bending down a little over the tray as he helped him.  The coffee splashed over into the saucer; yet it was not the hand holding the coffee-pot, but those holding the tray that shook.  Whereupon Charles Verity glanced up into the manservant’s face, calmly arrogant.

“Pray be careful, Hordle,” he said.  And then—­“Is Miss Verity right in supposing Captain Faircloth called here this morning?”