cut across or deflected the curve of her duty towards the other.  The two were the same, were one.  And this, somehow, some day, when time and sentiment offered opportunity for such disclosure, she must let her father know.  She must repeat to him the story of the eating-house and its monkey-faced proprietor—­of questionable reputation—­away in tropic Singapore.  It could hardly fail to appeal to him if rightly told.  About the events and vulgar publicity of yesterday nothing need be said.  About this, within careful limits, much; and that, with, as she believed, happiest result.  She had succeeded in bringing father and son together in the first instance.  Now, with this pathetic story as lever, might she not hope to bring them into closer, more permanent union?  Why should not Faircloth, in future, come and go, if not as an acknowledged son, yet as acknowledged and welcome friend, of the house?  A consummation this, to her, delightful and reasonable as just.  For had not the young man passed muster, and that triumphantly—­she again told herself—­in small things as well as great, in things of social usage and habit, those “little foxes” which, as between class and class, do so deplorably and disastrously “spoil the grapes?”

Therefore she began to invent ingenious speeches to Carteret and to her father.  Hatch ingenious schemes and pretty plots—­in the style of dear Aunt Felicia almost!—­Was that lady’s peace-making passion infectious, by chance?  And supposing it were, hadn’t it very charming and praiseworthy turns to it—­witness Felicia’s rather noble gathering in and acceptance of Faircloth yesterday.

Arriving at which engaging conclusion, Damaris felt minded to commune for a space with the restful loveliness of the twilight, before going downstairs again and seeking more definite employment of books or needlework.  She raised the window-sash and, kneeling on the chintz-covered cushioned window-seat, leaned out.

The gardeners to-day had rooted up the geraniums and dug over the empty flower beds, just below, preparatory to planting them with bulbs for spring blossoming.  The keen, pungent scent of the newly-turned earth hung in the humid air, as, mingling with it—­a less agreeable incense—­did the reek of the mud-flats.  On the right the twin ilex trees formed a mass of soft imponderable gloom.  Above and behind them the sky was like smoked crystal.  The lawn lay open and vacant.  Upon it nothing hopped or crept.  The garden birds had eaten their suppers long since, and sought snug bosky perching places for the night.  Even the unsleeping sea was silent, the tide low and waveless, no more than a languid ripple far out upon the shelving sands.  All dwelt in calm, in a brooding tranquillity which might be felt.