The disturbing memory of a lithe, scarlet-sheathed figure had been with Dan all morning as he went about his work, and he was sullenly ashamed of the riot which the vision occasioned within him and of his own utter helplessness to master it.  It—­it was damnable!  So he accompanied his wife to the kitchen and offered to carry in the joint.

Following upon this incident the atmosphere seemed to become all at once constrained and difficult.  June sat very silent, her eyes holding that expression of pain and bewilderment which was growing habitual to them, while Storran hurried through his meal in the shortest possible time.  As soon as he had finished he pushed back his chair abruptly and, with a muttered apology, quitted the room and went out again on to the farm.  June rose and began clearing the table mechanically.

“Can’t I help you?” Gillian paused as she was about to follow Magda out of the room.  “You look so tired to-day.”

June’s lip quivered sensitively.  She was in the state of nerves when a little unexpected sympathy is the most upsetting thing imaginable.

“Oh, I can’t let you!” she answered hastily.  “No—­really!”—­as Gillian calmly took the tray she was carrying out of her hands.

“Supposing you go and lie down for a little while,” suggested Gillian practically.  “And leave the washing-up to Coppertop and me!”

The tears suddenly brimmed up into the wide-open blue eyes.

“Oh, I couldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t you like a little rest?” urged Gillian persuasively.  “I believe you’d be asleep in two minutes!”

“I believe I should,” acknowledged June faintly.  “I—­I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

A little shudder ran through her as she recalled those long hours each night when she lay at Dan’s side, staring wide-eyed into the darkness and wondering dully what it was that had come between herself and her husband—­come just at the time when, with his unborn child beneath her heart, they two should have been drawn together in to the most wonderful and blessed comradeship and understanding.  Only Dan didn’t know this—­didn’t know that before the snowdrops lifted their white heads again from the green carpet of spring there would be a little son—­June was sure it would be a son, to grow up tall and strong like Dan himself!—­born of the love which had once been so sweet and untroubled by any creeping doubts.

“I assure you”—­Gillian broke in on the miserable thoughts that were chasing each other through June’s tired brain—­“I assure you, Coppertop and I are very competent people.  We won’t break a single dish!”

“But you’ve never been used to that kind of thing—­washing-up!” protested June, glancing significantly at Gillian’s white hands and soft, pretty frock of hyacinth muslin.

“Haven’t I?” Gillian laughed gaily.  “I haven’t always been as well off as I am not, and I expect I know quite as much about doing ‘chores’ as you!  Come now!” She waited expectantly.