In the fraction of an instant, a thousand wild and disturbing thoughts swept through Leonora’s brain.  Was it possible that Arthur Twemlow had suggested this change of plan to the girls?  Or had the girls already noticed with the keen eyes of youth that she and Arthur Twemlow enjoyed each other’s society, and naively wished to give her pleasure?  Would Arthur Twemlow, but for the accidental encounter on the Marsh, have passed by her home without calling?  If she remained, what conclusion could not be drawn?  If she persisted in going, might not he want to come with her?  She was ashamed of the preposterous inward turmoil.

‘And my shopping?’ she smiled, blushing.

‘Give me the list, mater,’ said Ethel, and took the morocco book out of her hand.

Never before had Leonora felt so helpless in the sudden clutch of fate.  She knew she was a willing prey.  She wished to remain, and politeness to Arthur Twemlow demanded that this wish should not be disguised.  Yet what would she not have given even to have felt herself able to disguise it?

‘How incredibly stupid I am!’ she thought.

No sooner had the two girls departed than Twemlow began to laugh.

‘I must tell you,’ he said, with candid amusement, ’that this is a plant.  Those two daughters of yours calculated to leave you and me here alone together.’

‘Yes?’ she murmured, still constrained.

’Miss Milly wants me to talk you round about her going in for the stage.  When I met them on the Marsh, of course I began to pay her compliments, and I just happened to say I thought she was a born comedienne, and before I knew it T was blindfolded, handcuffed, and carried off, so to speak.’

This was the simple, innocent explanation!  ’Oh, how incredibly stupid, stupid, stupid, I was!’ she thought again, and a feeling of exquisite relief surged into her being.  Mingled with that relief was the deep joy of realising that Ethel and Milly fully shared her instinctive predilection for Arthur Twemlow.  Here indeed was the supreme security.

‘I must say my daughters get more and more surprising every day,’ she remarked, impelled to offer some sort of conventional apology for her children’s unconventional behaviour.

‘They are charming girls,’ he said briefly.

On the surface of her profound relief and joy there played like a flying fish the thought:  ’Was he meaning to call in any case?  Was he on his way here?’

They talked about Aunt Hannah, whom Twemlow had seen that morning and who was improving rapidly.  But he agreed with Leonora that the old lady’s vitality had been irretrievably shattered.  Then there was a pause, followed by some remarks on the weather, and then another pause.  Bran, after watching them attentively for a few moments as they stood side by side near the French window, rose up from off his haunches, and walked gloomily away.

‘Bran, Bran!’ Twemlow cried.