It was not of Johnny Everard she was thinking.

“He said—­he said that he had a right, that my love for him gave him the right!  How dared he?” A deep flush stole into her cheeks, and then died out.

She rose suddenly with a gesture of impatience.

“It is a lie!  It is wrong, and it is nonsense.  I am engaged to marry Johnny Everard, and there is no finer, better man living!  I shall never see that other man again.  Yesterday he and I parted for good and for always, and I am glad—­glad!” And she knew even while she uttered the words that she was very miserable.

Connie Everard drove the pony-trap over to Starden.  She brought with her a boy who would drive it back again.  Later in the afternoon Johnny would drive the car over for her and take her back.

Connie, having attended carefully to her toilet, descended to the waiting pony-trap, and found, to her surprise and a little to her annoyance, that Ellice was already seated in the little vehicle.

“Ellice, dear, I am sorry, but—­”

“You don’t want to take me, Connie; but, all the same, I am going.  I want to see—­her!”

“Why?”

“I want to see her,” the girl said.  A dusky glow of sudden passion came into her face.  “I want to see her.  There is no harm, is there?” She laughed shrilly.  “I shan’t hurt her by looking at her.  I want to see her again, the woman that he loves.”  There was a shake in her voice, a suggestion of passionate tears, but the child held herself in check.

“Ellice, darling, it will be better if you—­”

“If I don’t go.  I know, but I am going.  You—­you can’t turn me out, Connie.  I am too strong; I shall cling to the sides of the cart.”

There was a look, half of laughter, half of defiance, in the girl’s eyes.

“Connie, I am going, and nothing shall prevent me!”

Connie sighed, and stepped into the cart and took up the reins.  “Very well, dear!” she said resignedly.

“You are angry with me, Connie?”

“Why should you want to go to Starden?”

“I want to see her again.  I want to—­to understand, to—­to know things.”

“What do you mean, to understand, to know things?”

“I want to watch her!”

“Ellice, you will make me angry presently.  Ellice,” Connie added suddenly, “I suppose you don’t intend to make a scene, and make yourself foolish and—­and cheap?”

“I shall say nothing.  I only want to watch and to try and understand.”

“I think you are acting foolishly and wrongly, Ellice.  I think you are a very foolish child!”

“I wish,” Ellice said, and said it without passion, but with a deep certainty in her voice, “I wish that I were dead, Connie.”

“You ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself,” said Connie, who could think of nothing better to say.

She made one more attempt when Starden was reached.