The feminine gentleness of her character was known to Stukely, so she could afford to exaggerate the expression of her anger, and she did not modify it, forgetful that a woman is the representative of the sex with cynical men, and escapes from contempt at the cost of her sisterhood.

Looking out of an upper window in the afternoon she beheld Nevil Beauchamp in a group with his uncle Everard, the colonel and Cecilia, and Mr. Culbrett.  Nevil was on his feet; the others were seated under the great tulip-tree on the lawn.

A little observation of them warned her that something was wrong.  There was a vacant chair; Nevil took it in his hand at times, stamped it to the ground, walked away and sharply back fronting his uncle, speaking vehemently, she perceived, and vainly, as she judged by the cast of his uncle’s figure.  Mr. Romfrey’s head was bent, and wagged slightly, as he screwed his brows up and shot his eyes, queerly at the agitated young man.  Colonel Halkett’s arms crossed his chest.  Cecilia’s eyelids drooped their, lashes.  Mr. Culbrett was balancing on the hind-legs of his chair.  No one appeared to be speaking but Nevil.

It became evident that Nevil was putting a series of questions to his uncle.  Mechanical nods were given him in reply.

Presently Mr. Romfrey rose, thundering out a word or two, without a gesture.

Colonel Halkett rose.

Nevil flung his hand out straight to the house.

Mr. Romfrey seemed to consent; the colonel shook his head:  Nevil insisted.

A footman carrying a tea-tray to Miss Halkett received some commission and swiftly disappeared, making Rosamund wonder whether sugar, milk or cream had been omitted.

She met him on the first landing, and heard that Mr. Romfrey requested her to step out on the lawn.

Expecting to hear of a piece of misconduct on the part of the household servants, she hurried forth, and found that she had to traverse the whole space of the lawn up to the tuliptree.  Colonel Halkett and Mr. Romfrey had resumed their seats.  The colonel stood up and bowed to her.

Mr. Romfrey said:  ’One question to you, ma’am, and you shall not be detained.  Did not that man Shrapnel grossly insult you on the day you called on him to see Captain Beauchamp about a couple of months before the Election?’

‘Look at me when you speak, ma’am,’ said Beauchamp.

Rosamund looked at him.

The whiteness of his face paralyzed her tongue.  A dreadful levelling of his eyes penetrated and chilled her.  Instead of thinking of her answer she thought of what could possibly have happened.

‘Did he insult you at all, ma’am?’ said Beauchamp.

Mr. Romfrey reminded him that he was not a cross-examining criminal barrister.

They waited for her to speak.

She hesitated, coloured, betrayed confusion; her senses telling her of a catastrophe, her conscience accusing her as the origin of it.