Rachel, misreading his expression, thought that he did not wish to be bothered with household details.  She recalled some gratuitous advice half humorously offered to her by a middle-aged lady at her reception, “Never talk servants to your men.”  She had thought, at the time, “I shall talk everything with my husband.”  But she considered that she was wiser now.

“By the way,” she said in a new tone, “there’s a post-card for you.  I’ve read it.  Couldn’t help.”

Louis read the post-card.  He paled, and Rachel noticed his pallor.  The fact was that in his mind he had simply shelved, and shelved again, the threat of James Horrocleave.  He had sincerely desired to tell a large portion of the truth to Rachel, taking advantage of her soft mood; but he could not; he could not force his mouth to open on the subject.  In some hours he had quite forgotten the danger—­he was capable of such feats—­then it reasserted itself and he gazed on it fascinated and helpless.  When Rachel, to please him and prove her subjugation, had suggested that they should go to church—­“for the Easter morning service”—­he had concurred, knowing, nevertheless, that he dared not fail to meet Horrocleave at the works.  On the whole, though it gave him a shock, he was relieved that Horrocleave had sent the post-card and that Rachel had seen it.  But he still was quite unable to decide what to do.

“It’s a nice thing, him asking you to go to the works on a Bank Holiday like that!” Rachel remarked.

Louis answered:  “It’s not to-morrow he wants me.  It’s to-day.”

“Sunday!” she exclaimed.

“Yes.  I met him for a second yesterday afternoon, and he told me then.  This was just a reminder.  He must have sent it off last night.  A good thing he did send it, though.  I’d quite forgotten.”

“But what is it?  What does he want you to go on Sunday for?”

Louis shrugged his shoulders, as if to intimate that nothing that Horrocleave did ought to surprise anybody.

“Then what about church?”

Louis replied on the spur of the moment—­

“You go there by yourself.  I’ll meet you there.  I can easily be there by eleven.”

“But I don’t know the pew.”

“They’ll show you your pew all right, never fear.”

“I shall wait for you in the churchyard.”

“Very well.  So long as it isn’t raining.”

She kissed him fervently when he departed.

Long before it was time to leave for church she had a practical and beautiful idea—­one of those ideas that occur to young women in love.  Instead of waiting for Louis in the churchyard she would call for him at the works, which was not fifty yards off the direct route to St. Luke’s.  By this means she would save herself from the possibility of inconvenience within the precincts of the church, and she would also prevent the conscienceless Mr. Horrocleave from keeping Louis in the office all the morning.  She wondered that the idea had not occurred to Louis, who was very gifted in such matters as the arrangement of rendezvous.