She rose with a new and malicious resolution to show no sign of rebellion, to go through the day as if nothing had happened, to deceive them all, and then—!  Exactly what ‘and then’ meant, she did not explain even to herself.

In accordance with this plan of action she presented an untroubled front at breakfast, went out riding with little Ann, and shopping with her mother afterwards.  Owing to this news of Miltoun the journey to Scotland had been postponed.  She parried with cool ingenuity each attempt made by Lady Valleys to draw her into conversation on the subject of that meeting at Gustard’s, nor would she talk of her brother; in every other way she was her usual self.  In the afternoon she even volunteered to accompany her mother to old Lady Harbinger’s in the neighbourhood of Prince’s Gate.  She knew that Harbinger would be there, and with the thought of meeting that other at ‘five o’clock,’ had a cynical pleasure in thus encountering him.  It was so complete a blind to them all!  Then, feeling that she was accomplishing a masterstroke; she even told him, in her mother’s hearing, that she would walk home, and he might come if he cared.  He did care.

But when once she had begun to swing along in the mellow afternoon, under the mellow trees, where the air was sweetened by the South-West wind, all that mutinous, reckless mood of hers vanished, she felt suddenly happy and kind, glad to be walking with him.  To-day too he was cheerful, as if determined not to spoil her gaiety; and she was grateful for this.  Once or twice she even put her hand up and touched his sleeve, calling his attention to birds or trees, friendly, and glad, after all those hours of bitter feelings, to be giving happiness.  When they parted at the door of Valleys House, she looked back at him with a queer, half-rueful smile.  For, now the hour had come!

In a little unfrequented ante-room, all white panels and polish, she sat down to wait.  The entrance drive was visible from here; and she meant to encounter Courtier casually in the hall.  She was excited, and a little scornful of her own excitement.  She had expected him to be punctual, but it was already past five; and soon she began to feel uneasy, almost ridiculous, sitting in this room where no one ever came.  Going to the window, she looked out.

A sudden voice behind her, said: 

“Auntie Babs!”.

Turning, she saw little Ann regarding her with those wide, frank, hazel eyes.  A shiver of nerves passed through Barbara.

“Is this your room?  It’s a nice room, isn’t it?”

She answered: 

“Quite a nice room, Ann.”

“Yes.  I’ve never been in here before.  There’s somebody just come, so I must go now.”

Barbara involuntarily put her hands up to her cheeks, and quickly passed with her niece into the hall.  At the very door the footman William handed her a note.  She looked at the superscription.  It was from Courtier.  She went back into the room.  Through its half-closed door the figure of little Ann could be seen, with her legs rather wide apart, and her hands clasped on her low-down belt, pointing up at William her sudden little nose.  Barbara shut the door abruptly, broke the seal, and read:  “Dear lady Barbara,