“They must have heard of my trial,” said Rachel, in a low voice.  They were walking in the grounds after breakfast, but she looked round before speaking at all.

“They would glance at it,” said Steel, with a shrug; “an occasional schoolboy might read it through; but even if you were guilty, and were here on view, you would command much less attention than the local malefactor in an infinitely smaller way.  I am sorry I put it quite like that,” added Steel, as Rachel winced, “but I feel convinced about it, and only wish I could convince you.”

And he did so, more or less; but the fear of recognition had increased in Rachel, instead of abating, as time went on.  It had increased especially since the rapid ripening of her acquaintance with Morna Woodgate into the intimacy which already subsisted between the two young wives.  Rachel had told her husband that she would not have Morna know for anything; and he had appeared in his own dark way to sympathize with a solicitude which was more actual than necessary; but that was perhaps because he approved of Mrs. Woodgate on his own account.  And so rare was that approval, as a positive and known quantity, yet so marked in this case, that he usually contrived to share Morna’s society with his wife.

“You shall not monopolize Mrs. Woodgate,” he would say with all urbanity as he joined them when least expected.  “I was first in the field, you know!”

And in the field he would remain.  There were no commands, no wishes to obey in the matter, no embargo upon the comings and goings between the two new friends.  But Mr. Steel invariably appeared upon the scene as well.  The good vicar attributed it to the elderly bridegroom’s jealous infatuation for his beautiful young bride; but Morna knew better from the first.

“Are you going?” asked Rachel, eagerly, when she and Morna met again; indeed, she had gone expressly to the Vicarage to ask the question; and not until she had seen the Woodgates’ invitation could Steel himself induce her to answer theirs.

The Woodgates were going.  Morna was already in alternate fits of despair and of ideas about her dress.

“I wish I might dress you!” said Rachel, knowing her well enough already to say that.  “I have wardrobes full of them, and yet my husband insists upon taking me up to London to get something fit to wear!”

“But not necessarily on your back!” cried Steel himself, appearing at that moment in his usual way, warm, breathless, but only playfully put out.  “My dear Mrs. Woodgate, I must have a special wire between your house and ours.  One thing, however, I always know where to find her!  Did she tell you we go by the 12:55 from Northborough?”

It was something to wear upon her neck—­a diamond necklet of superb stones, gradually swelling to one of the first water at the throat; and Rachel duly wore it at the dinner-party, with a rich gown of bridal white, whose dazzling purity had perhaps the effect of cancelling the bride’s own pallor.  But she was very pale.  It was her first appearance at a gathering of the kind, not only there in Delverton, but anywhere at all since her second marriage.  And the invitation had been of the correct, most ample length; it had had time to wind itself about Rachel’s nerves.