“I think I had better leave you now, as I am tired and you are angry.”

Mrs. Bo (standing up and coming very close to me):  “Do you not know that I would nurse Peter Flower through yellow fever!  But, though I have lived next door to him these last three years, I would never dream of doing what you have done to-day.”

The expression on her face was so intense that I felt sorry for her and said as gently as I could: 

“I do not see why you shouldn’t!  Especially if you are all such friends down here as you say you are.  However, every one has a different idea of what is right and wrong. ...I must go now!”

I was determined not to stay a moment longer and walked to the door, but she had lost her head and said in a hard, bitter voice: 

“You say every one has a different idea of right and wrong, but I should say you have none!”

At this I left the room.

When I told Mrs. Bunbury what had happened, all she said was: 

“Cat!  She’s jealous!  Before you came down here, Peter Flower was in love with her.”

This was a great shock to me and I determined I would leave the Grafton country, as I had already been away far too long from my own people; so I wrote to Peter saying I was sorry not to say good-bye to him, but that I had to go home.  The next day was Sunday.  I got my usual love-letter from Peter—­who, whether I saw him or not, wrote daily—­telling me that his temperature had gone up again and that he would give me his two best horses on Monday, as he was not allowed to leave his room.  After we had finished lunch, Peter turned up, looking ill and furious.  Mrs. Bunbury greeted him sweetly and said: 

“You ought to be in bed, you know; but, since you are here, I’ll leave Margot to look after you while Jacky and I go round the stables.”

When we were left to ourselves, Peter, looking at me, said: 

“Well!  I’ve got your letter!  What is all this about?  Don’t you know there are two horses coming over from Ireland this week which I want you particularly to ride for me?”

I saw that he was thoroughly upset and told him that I was going home, as I had been already too long away.

“Have your people written to you?” he said.

Margot:  “They always write. ...”

Peter:  (seeing the evasion):  “What’s wrong?”

Margot:  “What do you mean?”

Peter:  “You know quite well that no one has asked you to go home.  Something has happened; some one has said something to you; you’ve been put out.  After all it was only yesterday that we were discussing every meet; and you promised to give me a lurcher.  What has happened since to change you?”

Margot:  “Oh, what does it matter?  I can always come down here again later on.”

Peter:  “How wanting in candour you are!  You are not a bit like what I thought you were!”