Rachel scribbled an answer, which a small boy on a bicycle carried off.  Then she went slowly back to the sitting-room, so disappointed and unnerved that she was on the brink of tears.  Janet who had just come in from milking, was standing by the table, mending a rent in her waterproof.  She looked up as Rachel entered, and the needle paused in her hand.

“I say, Rachel!—­you do look overdone!  You’ve been going at it too hard.”

For all day long Rachel had been lifting, and sorting, and carrying, in the potato-field, finding in the severe physical exertion the only relief from restlessness.  She shook her head irritably and came to stand by the wood fire which Janet had just lit, a welcome brightness in the twilight room.

“Suppose you knock up—­” began Janet in a tone of remonstrance.  Rachel cut her short.

“I want to speak to you—­please, Janet.”

Janet looked round in astonishment and put down her work.  Rachel was standing by the fire, with her hands behind her back, her eyes fixed on Janet.  She was still in the graceful tunic and knee-breeches, in which her young and splendid youth seemed always most at home.  But she had taken off her cap, and her brown hair was falling round a pale face.

“Janet—­you know Captain Ellesborough and I had a long talk last night?”

Janet smiled.

“Of course I do.  And of course I have my own thoughts about it!”

“I don’t know what they are,” said Rachel slowly.  “But—­I’d better tell you—­Captain Ellesborough asked me to marry him.”

She paused.

“Did you think that would be news to any of us?” said Janet, laughing, and then stopped.  The sudden contraction of pain in Rachel’s face, and something like a sob startled her.

“Don’t, Janet, please.  I told him something—­which made him wonder—­whether he did want to marry me after all.”

Janet’s heart gave an uncomfortable jump.  A score of past conjectures and misgivings rushed back upon her.

“What did you tell him?”

“What I see now I ought to have told you—­as well as him—­long ago.  Henderson is my maiden name.  I was a married woman for three years.  I had a child which died.  I divorced my husband, and he’s still alive.”

The colour had flamed back into her cheeks.  Janet sat silent, her eyes fixed on Rachel’s.

“I did tell you I had a story, didn’t I?” said Rachel insistently.

“You did.  I took my chance.  It was you who—­who brought the action?”

“I brought the action.  There was no defence.  And the judge said—­I’d been awfully badly treated—­it was no wonder I wanted—­to get free.  Well, there it is.  I’m sorry I deceived you.  I’m sorry I deceived him.”

“You didn’t deceive me,” said Janet.  “I had practically guessed it.”  She rose slowly, and going up to Rachel, she put her hands on her shoulders,—­

“Why didn’t you tell me, you poor thing!” Her voice and eyes were full of emotion—­full of pity.  But Rachel shrank away a little from her touch, murmuring under her breath, “Because I wanted never to hear of it—­or think of it again.”  Then, after a pause, she added, “But if you want to know more, I’ll tell you.  It’s your right.  My married name was Delane.”