Cruelty leaped up into his eyes. He was always most cruel when his pride was touched. Inwardly he laughed at Harriet, because Harriet's niece had scorned him. He foresaw fun; he was a man of his age, and fun to him meant laughing at someone in a weaker position than the one he enjoyed himself.

Life had been unkind to him. First offering Bess, then snatching her away; and then he had married Amelia. Poor long-suffering Amelia, whose mild submission to his passionate onslaughts infuriated him. She thought him coarse and vulgar; she had never said so; she was too deeply aware of her wifely duty to criticize her husband, but unspoken criticism had been more difficult to bear for a man of his temperament.

He had determined to put her out of countenance; perhaps that was why he had flaunted Jennifer before her.

 He thought of Jennifer now, as he smiled at Harriet over the sloe wine.

Jennifer's fierce little body: Jennifer's parted lips. Jennifer was a devil, but she amused him more than anyone had amused him since Bess; she gave him something of that satisfaction which he had always believed he would have got from Bess. Passionate and calculating, she was clever, methodically clever; she wanted to step up from children's nurse and general housekeeper to mistress of the house. He knew it it made him laugh.

"What's the point of marrying you, Jennifer? What do I get out of it, eh? I mean what more do I get out of it?" He could be decidedly cruel and blunt. He liked to watch her rage; he liked to see her stalk to the door, threaten to leave his house; he liked all that. He had said: "Be reasonable, Jennifer. Why should I marry you? You want children?

All right have children!" What a rage she was in! But she wouldn't go; she hoped she would beat him in the end. Never, Jennifer! Never, my dear!

He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, and looked at Harriet.

"How you manage this house so well, with just those two sluts. I don't know, Harry. I really do not. But soon you'll be having your niece to help you.”

Harriet tossed her head.

"I'm not hoping for much from that quarter, I can tell you, George Haredon.”

He smiled; then he thought of her sitting in the window seat, looking so like Bess that he wanted to kill or make love to her, or perhaps both. When he half-closed his eyes he could almost see the red blood in them. He opened them and saw Harriet, very proud of her neat and orderly home, straight from her still-room. She's got a body like a board! he thought, and tried to imagine himself married to her.

Different from marriage to Amelia, of course, for however similar, no two women were alike. More spirit than Amelia, this one had. Would it be possible to raise the blacksmith's daughter in her.

Harriet cast down her eyes. He is thinking of marriage, she sensed; and she was faintly alarmed. The marriage in her , thoughts would be very different from a marriage of reality. She took a step backwards.

"Ah!" he said.

"I got the idea that you were having the girl here to help you in the house.”

"Help me!" She was the outraged housewife.

"I can run my own house, thank you, George. I'm having her because it is my duty to have her. Could I let her stay in London with the company her mother doubtless kept!”

"Nevertheless," said the squire slowly, 'she has kept that company." A dull anger burned suddenly in him. Doubtless she had, and how haughty she had been with him!

"I shall be severe with her, if I find it necessary," said Harriet.

"She will lead a sheltered life here with me. meeting only my friends.”

"What a wise woman you are, Harriet!" He smacked his lips over the sloe wine.

"Another, George?”

Thank you, Harriet. I could not say no to wine like yours." When he took the glass from her his fingers touched hers. She was calm, though aware of that gesture, he thought. He wanted to laugh. Queer, how sane women like Harriet Ramsdale had their crazy moments! And she was crazy; he thought of the two of them together like mating a bull with a hinny!

"You're amused, George. May I ask you to share the joke?”

"No joke really just enjoying the wine and your company. But what I came for. Harriet, was this. She'll come to Exeter. I suppose?”

"Why, yes.”

"The coach is due in this evening. You're meeting her?”

"I thought of driving in the trap.”

"A long journey for you. Harry. How'd it be if I sent one of my coachmen with the carriage? Jennifer could go to bear her company on the way back.”

Her eyes glittered a little as she raised them to his.

"It's a very kind offer, George. But what trouble to put you to!”

He laid a hand on her shoulder. Boney, she was; bonier than Amelia.

Never did like thin women, thought the squire.

"I'd like to do it for you, Harriet.”

"Well, George! Well!”

Coy as a schoolgirl, and immensely gratified! He felt suddenly flat.

"I'll be getting along, Harriet. I'll send Jennifer in to meet the girl' She stood at the door, watching him go striding out to his waiting carriage. Why, she wondered, had he not spoken? She had been sure he was going to.

Leave-taking was difficult. They sat side by side in the coach now, their hands touching.

Darrell whispered: "I shall be thinking of you every minute until I see you again.”

"And that will be soon," she answered.

He knew her aunt's house. It stood back from the road, and near it was a little wood; if she came out of her aunt's house and turned right she would see the wood. It would shelter them for their first meeting, and .that should be tomorrow evening at eight o'clock. It would be better to wait for evening. He would come to her on his uncle's chestnut mare, and wait for her just inside the wood; he would tell her what his Uncle Gregory had said about their marrying, because that was a matter he would discuss with him at the earliest possible moment.

"It is not real parting," said Kitty, and smiled up at his clear-cut, handsome face and rather delicate features.

The coach rumbled on. The merchant and the matron were discussing Exeter, and every occupant of the coach was excited because they were nearing the end of the long journey. Under cover of such conversation it was possible to exchange vows of eternal affection.

"I thought you were wonderful, when I first saw you. I could just see your mouth; your hat hid the rest of your face." She laughed softly and pressed closer to him.

"You stared so!”

"How could I help that?" he murmured.

"And Kitty ... now I have got to know you I've learned that you are more wonderful than I ever thought anyone could be.”

He kissed her ear, and they laughed and laughed round the coach. Had anyone seen? Who cared if they had.

The coach rumbled into Exeter and pulled up in the inn yard. The door was flung open.

"Perhaps," whispered Kitty, "I had better not introduce you to-my aunt... yet. Perhaps it would be better to wait a while and see...”

There was bustling to and fro whilst the luggage was unloaded. Kitty stood with her bags beside her, looking around her for Aunt Harriet.

A woman was coming towards her a small woman in a dark cloak and hood.

She stood before her; she had sharp, darting black eyes.

"Are you Miss Kitty Kennedy, who is on her way to Miss Rams-dale?”

"Why, yes. Are you... my Aunt Harriet?”

Laughter shook the thin shoulders momentarily.

"No. But I have come to meet you. I have a carriage here to take you to your aunt's house." She looked round and beckoned; a man came and picked up Kitty's bags.

Kitty turned and smiled at Darrell who had stood by, watching. His face looked bleak, she thought, but there was no time to ponder on that, for her companion was hurrying her into a carriage.

The door slammed. The woman sat back, studying Kitty, and Kitty studied her.

She had thrown back the hood of her cape and disclosed dark, rather frizzy hair; her brows were dusky, her dark eyes large yet alert. Kitty felt them taking in every detail of her appearance. She wondered if she were a servant of her Aunt Harriet's; her manner was a little arrogant, hardly that of a servant.

The carriage rolled out of the yard.

"Do tell me your name," said Kitty.

"Jennifer Jay.”

"And my aunt...”

"I have come to meet you on Squire Haredon's behalf." She stopped, watching the colour flood into the girl's face.

"But," stammered Kitty, 'why? I was going to my Aunt Harriet...”

"So you are. But Squire Haredon thought it would be helpful ... to your aunt... to send his carriage.”

"I see. He is very friendly with my aunt?”

A scornful smile twisted the woman's mouth.

"He has known her for a number of years." Jennifer leaned forward.

"I expect you are very like your mother.”

"I am supposed to be. You knew my mother?”

"Hardly! She left this place years ago, did she not? I am twenty-one.

Besides, I did not live here as a child.”

"It was good of Squire Haredon to send his carriage.”

"He is a generous man... at times," said Jennifer.

Yes, she was thinking, why had he gone to all this trouble for Harriet Ramsdale? She wanted to marry him, the sly old virgin! And she thought no one knew it. She, Jennifer, knew it; even those half-witted sluts, who worked for her, knew it. The squire knew it; there were times when she could almost get him to laugh with her over it. There were times when it was possible to get almost anything out of the squire. But he was hot tempered; the last time she had mentioned Harriet's name he had shut her up roughly; she had thought he was going to strike her. It wouldn't have been the first time, brute that he was, Like a great bull sometimes, rushing at you angrily ... and then getting amorous. A smile lifted the side of her mouth.