Half an hour after the proper time, when the others had finished their tea and bread and butter, Nora Rowley came down among them pale as a ghost.  Her sister had gone to her while she was dressing, but she had declared that she would prefer to be alone.  She would be down directly, she had said, and had completed her toilet without even the assistance of her maid.  She drank her cup of tea and pretended to eat her toast; and then sat herself down, very wretchedly, to think of it all again.  It had been all within her grasp all of which she had ever dreamed!  And now it was gone!  Each of her three companions strove from time to time to draw her into conversation, but she seemed to be resolute in her refusal.  At first, till her utter prostration had become a fact plainly recognised by them all, she made some little attempt at an answer when a direct question was asked of her; but after a while she only shook her head, and was silent, giving way to absolute despair.

Late in the evening she went out into the garden, and Priscilla followed her.  It was now the end of July, and the summer was in its glory.  The ladies, during the day, would remain in the drawing-room with the windows open and the blinds down, and would sit in the evening reading and working, or perhaps pretending to read and work, under the shade of a cedar which stood upon the lawn.  No retirement could possibly be more secluded than was that of the garden of the Clock House.  No stranger could see into it, or hear sounds from out of it.  Though it was not extensive, it was so well furnished with those charming garden shrubs which, in congenial soils, become large trees, that one party of wanderers might seem to be lost from another amidst its walls.  On this evening Mrs Stanbury and Mrs Trevelyan had gone out as usual, but Priscilla had remained with Nora Rowley.  After a while Nora also got up and went through the window all alone.  Priscilla, having waited for a few minutes, followed her; and caught her in a long green walk that led round the bottom of the orchard.

‘What makes you so wretched?’ she said.

‘Why do you say I am wretched?’

’Because it’s so visible.  How is one to go on living with you all day and not notice it?’

’I wish you wouldn’t notice it.  I don’t think it kind of you to notice it.  If I wanted to talk of it, I would say so.’

’It is better generally to speak of a trouble than to keep it to oneself,’ said Priscilla.

‘All the same, I would prefer not to speak of mine,’ said Nora.

Then they parted, one going one way and one the other, and Priscilla was certainly angry at the reception which had been given to the sympathy which she had proffered.  The next day passed almost without a word spoken between the two.  Mrs Stanbury had not ventured as yet to mention to her guest the subject of the rejected lover, and had not even said much on the subject to Mrs Trevelyan.  Between the two