“That’s what I mean,” she exclaimed, dabbing her eyes, “that’s exactly what I mean!  I don’t want to hurt his feelings, or to make a fuss, but I should be so grateful if you could manage to prevent his coming here.  I don’t want to make you vain,” she smiled, very winningly, “but sometimes I do feel that ‘two’s company.’  Since I’ve been here I’ve hardly ever seen you alone.  I used to enjoy our talks in London!  I feel, I know that you’re the only friend I’ve got in Beechfield.”

“That’s rather hard on Jack Tosswill,” and though he smiled, he looked at her significantly.

Enid was so surprised that for a moment her composure gave way, and the colour rushed into her pale face.  Then she pulled herself together.  “It really hasn’t been my fault,” she said plaintively.

“I’m sure it hasn’t.  But in a village one has to be careful.  Would it surprise you to hear that as I came along this morning, one of the inhabitants of Beechfield spoke to me of you and Jack, and suggested—­forgive me for saying so—­not only that the boy was very much in love with you but that you—­well—­encouraged him!”

Enid Crofton sat up.  “I’ve always heard that villages were far more wicked places than towns, and now I know it’s true!”

“Steady on,” he said smiling, “forgive me for having repeated a silly bit of gossip.  But, after all, what you said just now is quite true—­I am your oldest friend by a long way, and so I feel I ought to give you a word of warning.  I do think the poor boy is very fond of you, eh?”

Enid Crofton put out her hand and took his in hers.  She squeezed it convulsively.  “I feel so miserable,” she sobbed, “so miserable and lonely!”

“Do you, dear—­” And then they both started violently, and Radmore moved his chair away with a quick movement, for the door behind them had swung open, and Jack Tosswill, quite unaware of the other man’s presence, came through it, and at once began speaking eagerly, excitedly, in a voice so unlike his usual “home” voice that Radmore hardly recognised it:—­

“I’m so glad you’re downstairs.  I came this morning I hope you got my—­” and then he saw the other man, and checked himself abruptly.

He had given the beloved woman he regarded as his future wife, his most solemn word of honour that no one should suspect that they were more than mere acquaintances.  So, after a perceptible pause, he concluded, lamely, “my step-mother’s message.”

“Yes, I did; thank you very much.”

He saw that she had been crying, and his heart welled up with tenderness, and with angry, impatient annoyance against Radmore’s presence.

Why didn’t the stupid fellow go?  Surely he must realise, surely there must be something in the atmosphere, which must tell even the blindest of onlookers, how things were between him, Jack Tosswill, and the invalid?

But Radmore was quite impervious to the atmosphere of emotion and strain—­or so it seemed.  On and on he sat, Enid Crofton languidly making conversation with them both in turn, until at last Rosamund came in, and both men rose to leave together.