“I think that I’ll run up to town this afternoon, father.  I might be there for a day or two.”

Mr. Hazlewood was delighted.  No other proposal could have fitted in so well with his scheme.  The mere fact that Dick was away would start people at the pleasant business of conjecturing mishaps and quarrels.  Perhaps indeed the lovers had quarrelled.  Perhaps Richard had taken his advice and was off to consult his superiors.  Mr. Hazlewood scanned his son’s face eagerly but learnt nothing from it; and he was too wary to ask any questions.

“By all means, Richard,” he said carelessly, “go to London!  You will be back by next Friday, I suppose.”

“Oh yes, before that.  I shall stay at my own rooms, so if you want me you can send me a telegram.”

Dick Hazlewood had a small flat of his own in some Mansions at Westminster which had seen very little of him that summer.

“Thank you, Richard,” said the old man.  “But I shall get on very well, and a few days change will no doubt do you good.”

Dick grinned at his father and went off that afternoon without a word of farewell to Stella Ballantyne.  Mr. Hazlewood stood in the hall and saw him go with a great relief at his heart.  Everything at last seemed to be working out to advantage.  He could not but remember how so very few weeks ago he had been urgent that Richard should spend his summer at Little Beeding and lend a hand in the noble work of defending Stella Ballantyne against ignorance and unreason.  But the twinge only lasted a moment.  He had made a mistake, as all men occasionally do—­yes, even sagacious and thoughtful people like himself.  And the mistake was already being repaired.  He looked across the meadow that night at the lighted blinds of Stella’s windows and anticipated an evening when those windows would be dark and the cottage without an inhabitant.

“Very soon,” he murmured to himself, “very soon.”  He had not one single throb of pity for her now, not a single speculation whither she would go or what she would make of her life.  His own defence of her had now become a fault of hers.  He wished her no harm, he argued, but in a week’s time there must be no light shining behind those blinds.

CHAPTER XXII

A WAY OUT OF THE TRAP

Mr. Hazlewood was very glad that Richard was away in London during this week.  Excitement kept him feverish and the fever grew as the number of days before Thresk was to come diminished.  He would never have been able to keep his secret had every meal placed him under his son’s eyes.  He was free too from Stella herself.  He met her but once on the Monday and then it was in the deep lane leading towards the town.  It was about five o’clock in the evening and she was driving homewards in an open fly.  Mr. Hazlewood stopped it and went to the side.

“Richard is away, Stella, until Wednesday, as no doubt you knew,” he said.  “But I want you to come over to tea when he comes back.  Will Friday suit you?”