He would have to report to Anne that the two had spent it practically together; that Morella had a sullen red look on her face which boded ill for the part she would play, when she should be asked to play some part; that Mildred had done her best to render Theodora uncomfortable and unhappy, and thus had thrown her more into Hector’s protection.  The other women had been indifferent or mocking or amused, and Lady Harrowfield had let it be seen she would have no mercy.  Her comments had been vitriolic.

Hector and Theodora had not gone out of sight, or been any different to the others; only he had never left her, and there could be no mistaking the devotion in his face.

For the whole day Sir Patrick had more or less taken charge of Josiah.  He was finding him more difficult to manipulate over money matters than he had anticipated.  Josiah’s vulgar, round face and snub nose gave no index to his shrewdness; with his mutton-chop whiskers and bald head, Josiah was the personification of the smug grocer.

As she went to dress for dinner it seemed to Theodora that her heart was breaking.  She was only flesh and blood after all, and she, too, had felt her pulses throbbing wildly as they had walked along by the lake, when all the color and lights of the evening helped to excite her imagination and exalt her spirit.  They had been almost alone, for the other pair who composed the partie carree of this walk were several yards ahead of them.

Each minute she had been on the verge of imploring him to say good-bye—­to leave her—­to let their lives part, to try to forget, and the words froze on her lips in the passionate, unspoken cry which seemed to rise from her heart that she loved him.  Oh, she loved him!  And so she had not spoken.

There had been long silences, and each was growing almost to know the other’s thoughts—­so near had they become in spirit.

When she got to her room her knees were trembling.  She fell into a chair and buried her face in her hands.  She shivered as if from cold.

Josiah was almost angry with her for being so late for dinner.  Theodora hardly realized with whom she went in; she was dazed and numb.  She got through it somehow, and this night determined to go straight to her room rather than be treated as she had been the night before.  But one of the women whom the intercourse of the day had drawn into conversation with her showed signs of friendliness as they went through the anteroom, and drew her towards a sofa to talk.  She was fascinated by Theodora’s beauty and grace, and wanted to know, too, just where her clothes came from, as she did not recognize absolutely the models of any of the well-known couturieres, and they were certainly the loveliest garments worn by any one in the party.

One person draws another, and soon Theodora had three or four around her—­all purring and talking frocks.  And as she answered their questions with gentle frankness, she wondered what everything meant.  Did any of them feel—­did any of them love passionately as she did?—­or were they all dolls more or less bored and getting through life?  And would she, too, grow like them in time, and be able to play bridge with interest until the small hours?