Meanwhile that portion of the local gentry aforesaid, whom awkward personal predicament—­as in the case of Dr. Cripps and the Miss Minetts—­did not preclude from visiting The Hard, having called early on Monday afternoon also left early, being anxious to prove their civility of purest water, untainted by self-seeking, by ulterior greed of tea and cakes.  It followed that Damaris found herself relieved of their somewhat embarrassed, though kindly and well-intentioned, presence before sunset.  And of this she was glad, since the afternoon had been fruitful of interests far more intimate and vital in character.

While Captain and Mrs. Taylor, with their highly superior offspring Louisa, still held the floor, Damaris received a telegram from her father announcing a change of plans involving his immediate return.

“Send to meet the seven-thirty at Marychurch,” so the pink paper instructed her.  “Carteret comes with me.  When we arrive will explain.”

On reception of the above, her first thought was of the letter forwarded yesterday from the India Office, bearing the signature of the Secretary of State.  And close on the heels of that thought, looking over its shoulder, indeed, in the effort—­which she resisted—­to claim priority, was the thought of the dear man with the blue eyes about to be a guest, once again, under this roof.  This gave her a little thrill, a little gasp, wrapping her away to the borders of sad inattention to Louisa Taylor’s somewhat academic discourse.—­The girl’s English was altogether too grammatical for entire good-breeding.  In that how very far away from Carteret’s!—­Damaris tried to range herself with present company.  But the man with the blue eyes indubitably held the centre of the stage.  She wore the pearls to-day he gave her at St. Augustin.  In what spirit did he come?—­She hoped in the earlier one, that of the time when she so completely trusted him.  For his counsel, dared she claim it in that earlier spirit, would be of inestimable value just now.  She so badly needed someone in authority to advise with as to the events of yesterday, both in their malign and their beneficent aspects.  Aunt Felicia had risen to the height of her capacity—­dear thing, had been exquisite; but she would obey orders rather than issue them.  Her office was not to lead, but rather to be led.  And that the events of yesterday opened a new phase of her own and Faircloth’s relation to one another appeared beyond dispute.  Where exactly did the curve of duty towards her father touch that relation, run parallel with or intersect it?  She felt perplexed.