She hesitated nervously outside the morning-room door, whence issued the soft clink of china and a murmur of voices.  The clock in the hall had struck the hour five minutes ago.  She was late, and she knew that the instant she entered the room she would feel that unfriendly atmosphere rushing to meet her like a great black wave.  Finally, with an effort, she turned the door-handle and went in.

For once Lady Gertrude refrained from comment upon her lack of punctuality.  She seemed preoccupied and, to judge from the pinched closing of her lips, her thoughts were anything but pleasing, while Roger was in the sullen, rather impenetrable mood which Nan had learned to recognise as a sign of storm.  He hardly spoke at all, and then only to fling out one or two curt remarks in connection with estate matters.  Immediately breakfast was at an end he rose from the table, remarking that he should not be in for lunch, and left the room.

Lady Gertrude looked up from her morning’s letters.

“I suppose he’s riding over to Berry Farm—­the tenant wants some repairs done.  He ought to take a few sandwiches with him if he won’t be here for lunch.”

Isobel jumped up from her seat.

“I’ll see that he does,” she said quickly, and went out of the room in search of him.  Any need of Roger’s must be instantly supplied.

Lady Gertrude waited until the servants had cleared away the breakfast, then she turned to Nan with a very definite air of having something to say.

“Have you and Roger quarrelled?” she asked abruptly.

The girl started nervously.  She had not expected this as a consequence of Roger’s taciturnity.

“No,” she said, stumbling a little.  “No, we haven’t—­quarrelled.”

Lady Gertrude scrutinised her with keen, light-grey eyes that had the same penetrating glance as Roger’s own, and Nan felt herself colouring under it.

“You’ve displeased him in some way or other,” insisted Lady Gertrude, and waited for a reply.

Nan flared up at the older woman’s arbitrary manner.

“That’s rather a funny way to put it, isn’t it?” she said quickly.  “I’m—­I’m not a child, you know.”

“You behave very much like one at times,” retorted Lady Gertrude.  “I’ve done my utmost since you came here to fit you to be Roger’s wife, and without any appreciable result.  You seem to be exactly as irresponsible and thoughtless as when you arrived.”

The cold, contemptuous criticism flicked the girl’s raw nerves like the point of a lash.  She sprang to her feet, her eyes very bright, as though tears were not far distant, her young breast rising and falling unevenly with her hurrying breath.

“Is that what you think of me?” she said unsteadily.  “Because then I’d better go away.  It’s what I want—­to go away!  I—­I can’t bear it here any longer.”  Her fingers gripped the edge of the table tensely.  She was struggling to keep down the rising sobs which threatened to choke her speech.  “I know you don’t want me to be Roger’s wife—­you don’t think I’m fit for it!  You’ve just said so!  And—­and you’ve let me see it every day.  I’ll go—­I’ll go!”