I can see her standing in the postern doorway and saying these things and then giving me her hand and holding mine tight, while she shook her head at me and smiled that little baffling smile that seemed to come up flickering from her depths of wisdom on purpose to put me in the wrong.

“The trouble with you, Furny,” she said, “is that you’re much too good.”

She went; and we saw her tall, lithe figure swinging up the lane, past the courtyard and the paddock and the moor.

Then Norah plucked me in by the coat-sleeve as if she thought we oughtn’t to be looking at her.  We shut the door on her flight and turned to each other where we stood on the flagged path before the house.

“What does it mean?” I said.

“It means that she’s at the end of her tether.”

“The end—?” I think I must have gasped.

“The very end.  She can’t stand it any longer.”

“But,” I said, “she—­she’s got to stand it.  After all—­”

“There’s no good talking that way.  She can’t, and that settles it.  I knew she couldn’t, once she got beyond a certain point.”

“Do you mean to say,” I said, “that she’s going to leave him?”

“I—­don’t—­know.  I believe—­she’s going to think about it.”

“But—­it’s out of the question.  She mustn’t think about it.”

“You can’t stop her thinking, Wally.  She’s gone away to think about it sanely.  It’s the best thing she can do.”

“And you’re helping her to get away?”

She was silent for a moment.

“I’m only helping her to think,” she said.

I was stern with her.  “You’re not.  You’re just helping her to bolt,” I said.  “You’re conniving at her bolting.  You’ve lent her our house.”

“Isn’t it better she should come to us?”

“No, it isn’t better.  I don’t like it.  And I won’t have it.  I won’t have you mixed up in it.  Do you understand?”

“Dear Wally—­there isn’t anything to be mixed up in.  We’ll be back on Monday; then she’ll only be staying with us.”

“And till then—?”

“Till then—­for Heaven’s sake let the poor thing have peace for three days to think in.”

“That’s all very well,” I said, “but what are we to say to Jimmy when he comes back this afternoon?”

“You say—­you say she’s tired of—­of Amershott and wants three days in London to herself.—­No, you don’t.  You don’t say anything.  You leave it to me.  Vee-Vee said it was to be left to me.”

“And I say I won’t have you dragged into it.  Good Heavens, have you any idea what you may be let in for, supposing—?”

“Supposing what?”

I couldn’t say what.  But I don’t think I really had supposed anything—­then.

“You needn’t suppose things,” she said.  “Vee-Vee would never let us in.  Look here, Wally—­you’ve got to trust me this time.  I’m going to see Vee-Vee through, and I’m going to see Jimmy through; but I can’t do it if you don’t trust me.  I can’t do it if you interfere.”