“Ah, here’s my son.  Let me present him to you, Mr. Thresk.  And there’s the family.”

He leaned back, with a smile in his eyes, watching Henry Thresk.  Robert Pettifer watched too.

“The family?” Thresk asked.  “Is Mrs. Ballantyne a relation then?”

“She is going to be,” said Dick.

“Yes,” Mr. Hazlewood explained, still beaming and still watchful.  “Richard and Stella are going to be married.”

A pause followed which was just perceptible before Thresk spoke again.  But he had his face under control.  He took the stroke without flinching.  He turned to Dick with a smile.

“Some men have all the luck,” he said, and Dick, who had been looking at him in bewilderment, cried: 

“Mr. Thresk?  Not the Mr. Thresk to whom I owe so much?”

“The very man,” said Thresk, and Dick held out his hand to him gravely.

“Thank you,” he said.  “When I think of the horrible net of doubt and assumption in which Stella was coiled, I tell you I feel cold down my spine even now.  If you hadn’t come forward with your facts—­”

“Yes,” Thresk interposed.  “If I hadn’t come forward with my facts.  But I couldn’t well keep them to myself, could I?” A few more words were said and then Dick rose from his chair.

“Time’s up, Stella,” and he explained to Henry Thresk:  “We have to look over a house this afternoon.”

“A house?  Yes, I see,” said Thresk, but he spoke slowly and there was just audible a little inflection of doubt in his voice.  Stella was listening for it; she heard it when her two antagonists noticed nothing.

“But, Dick,” she said quickly, “we can put the inspection off.”

“Not on my account,” Thresk returned.  “There’s no need for that.”  He was not looking at Stella whilst he spoke and she longed to see his face.  She must know exactly how she stood with him, what he thought of her.  She turned impulsively to Mr. Hazlewood.

“I haven’t been asked, but may I come to dinner?  You see I owe a good deal to Mr. Thresk.”

Mr. Hazlewood was for the moment at a loss.  He had not lost hope that between now and dinner-time explanations would be given which would banish Stella Ballantyne altogether from Little Beeding.  But he had no excuse ready and he stammered out: 

“Of course, my dear.  Didn’t I ask you?  I must have forgotten.  I certainly expect you to dine with us to-night.  Margaret will no doubt be here.”

Margaret Pettifer had taken little part in the conversation about the tea-table.  She sat in frigid hostility, speaking only when politeness commanded.  She accepted her brother’s invitation with a monosyllable.

“Thank you,” said Stella, and she faced Henry Thresk, looking him straight in the eyes but not daring to lay any special stress upon the words:  “Then I shall see you to-night.”

Thresk read in her face a prayer that he should hold his hand until she had a chance to speak with him.  She turned away and went from the room with Dick Hazlewood.