“Then I should suppose that he was included in that party to silence the ondits.”

She looked startled. “Are there any?”

“According to Gurney, people have begun to whisper that there’s something odd about him. It isn’t surprising.”

“No—I suppose it isn’t,” she said sadly. “But how dreadful if it came to his ears!”

“It isn’t likely to. Don’t look so harassed, love! Would you care to take a walk with me through the park, or shall I have my horses put to, and tool you round the countryside?”

“Good God, no!” she exclaimed. “That would give the tattle-boxes something to talk about indeed!”

“What of it?”

“Philip, it would be all over the house, in the twinkling of a bed-post! Sidlaw would tell my aunt, making it appear that I was behaving in a—in a clandestine way! No, don’t laugh! She’s an arch-intelligencer, you know: “that’s why the other servants hate her. She watched me go into the shrubbery, the day you came and sat beside me there, and she told my aunt, and my aunt spoke to me about the impropriety of it. I was never nearer to pulling caps with her! No, and never so thankful, when you set me down yesterday, that no one saw me enter the house! It is bad enough that we are secretly betrothed: it is not at all the thing! I couldn’t bear it to come to my aunt’s ears before I’ve told her myself that you’ve offered for me! She would think me so sly!” She saw that his brows had drawn together, and said imploringly: “Oh, Philip, don’t look angry! Pray try to understand!”

“I am angry!” he responded harshly, adding, as her eyes widened in dismay: “Oh, not with you! Never with you, Kate! Only with circumstance! I think it intolerable that we should be obliged to hide our teeth—play the concave-suit!—because of Minerva’s illness! But I do understand your scruples. You are very right: neither of us could bear the sort of backstairs gossip, and speculation, which would be provoked by any indiscretion. I must still wish that you would let me remove you from Staplewood—but I’ll say no more on that head!” He took her hand, and kissed it. “Don’t be troubled, my sweet! God forbid I should try to persuade you to do anything against your conscience!”

“It would weigh on me all my life if I left my aunt now!” she said, searching his face with anxious eyes.

“Very well,” he replied. He hesitated for a moment, and then, as she looked inquiringly at him, shook his head, crookedly smiling. “No. There’s a great deal I could say to you, but it would only set you at outs with me, so I’ll keep my tongue. Must I conceal the news from my uncle? I should wish to tell him—and at once.”

Her face brightened. “Oh, yes, pray do tell him! Then, if he gives his consent, it will make everything right, won’t it?”

“His consent, my little love, is not necessary!”

“His approval, then,” she said docilely.

“That’s not necessary either, though I should wish him to approve.”

“It is necessary to me,” she said. “It would be very hard, but I hope I should have the resolution not to marry you, if he should dislike it very much.”

“In that case,” he retorted, walking to the door, “there will be nothing for it but to abduct you!”

He left her laughing. She went upstairs to find Sidlaw lying in wait for her. Hostility flickered in Sidlaw’s eyes, but she spoke with meticulous civility. “If you please, Miss Kate, may I have a word with you?”

“Certainly! What is it?” Kate said, forcing herself to speak pleasantly.

“I did not venture to intrude on you, miss, when you and Mr Broome were eating a nuncheon, but I should be glad if you would speak to Mrs Thorne, which I do not care to do myself, under the circumstances.”

Repressing an exasperated sigh, Kate asked what she was to speak about, and thereby unleashed a spate of complaints, most of which she judged to be groundless. However, she promised to adjust them; and even to order the chef to make some tapioca jelly, which her ladyship thought she could fancy. She then went to the housekeeper’s room, where she was relieved to find that Mrs Thorne was so far restored to health as to have been able to consume a sustaining meal, the remains qf which were to be seen on a tray. She said that she had been trying to keep up her strength.

It was nearly half an hour later when Kate escaped from her garrulity, and Torquil and the doctor had returned from their expedition. She heard Torquil’s voice in the hall, demanding to be told where she was, and slipped away to her room. It had occurred to her that if she wrote to Sarah, explaining her circumstances, and warning her that she might shortly be arriving in London, Mr Philip Broorne would see her letter safely posted.

Her room contained an elegant little writing-table, furnished, (ironically, Kate thought, remembering the fate of her previous letters) with writing-paper, ink, wafers, a selection of pens, and a knife with which to sharpen them. Kate sat down to write to Sarah. She had meant to have given a full account of the situation at Staplewood, but the ink dried on her pen as she realized that, whatever she might confide to Sarah by word of mouth it would be injudicious—even dangerous—to set the whole story down on paper. So it was quite a short letter that was written, but it contained one piece of news which, Kate guessed, would delight Sarah.

She had been vaguely aware, while she tried to compose her letter, of voices in the garden, and as she wrote the superscription someone ran up the terrace steps, immediately below her window, and Torquil shouted: “Kate! Are you there? Do come down!”

She rose, and went to the window, leaning out to look down into his upturned face. He was smiling, and his eyes sparkled; as soon as he saw her, he said again coaxingly:’

“Do come out, coz! See what I’ve brought from Market Harborough!” He held up a circular metal plate, with a hole in the centre.

“But what is it?” she asked.

“Why, a quoit, of course! Matthew has been showing me how to throw it, and I can tell you it requires a great deal of skill! We’ve paced out the ground, and driven in the iron stakes at either end—” He looked over his shoulder to shout to the doctor: “What did you tell me the stakes are called, Matthew?”

“Take care!” Kate said warningly. “Don’t disturb your mother!”

He looked rather impatient, but said nothing. Dr Delabole, who had come across the lawn to the foot of the steps, said: “Hobs, my boy, hobs! Do you care to try your skill, Miss Kate? It is quite a diverting pastime!” .

She agreed to go down, wondering if Philip had emerged from the East Wing, and hoping that she might be able to snatch a word with him on her way out into the garden. However, there was no sign of him downstairs, so she was obliged to go out with the anxious question in her head unanswered.

The rules of the game were quite simple, the players standing facing one another, by one of the hobs and being provided with an equal number of quoits, which they cast, in turn, at the opposite hob, the object being to throw the quoits as near as possible to the hob.

The doctor offered himself as scorer, but had first to combine this role with that of instructor, Kate never having played the game before, and making a number of wild casts. Torquil, on the other hand, seemed to have a natural aptitude for it, getting the range immediately, and sending his quoits spinning towards the hob with an expert flick of his wrist. He was obviously enjoying himself, intent on improving his skill, and flushing with gratification when the doctor said jovially that he would have to be handicapped.

“I wish he might be!” said Kate fervently.

“Nothing easier!” declared the doctor. “We can extend the range, you know: there is no limit! You shall be allowed to stand halfway, and he shall throw from—what do you say, Torquil? Twenty yards?”

“What is it now?” asked Kate. “It seems more than that to me already!”

“Eighteen,” replied Torquil. He watched her throw the quoit she was holding, and exclaimed: “No, no, don’t hurl it! Use your wrist! Here, let me show you!” He came running up to her, looking just like an eager schoolboy, for he had thrown off his coat, and his neckcloth, and his hair was dishevelled. He grasped her hand, with his strong fingers, and forced her to bend her wrist over. “There! Do you see what I mean?”

She said meekly that she did see what he meant, but doubted her ability to carry out his instructions, adding that she had never before suspected that her wrists were made of tallow. She then caught sight of Philip, who was leaning his arms on the stone parapet of the terrace, watching them, and hailed him with relief, inviting him to take her place.

The instant the words were out of her mouth she knew that the suggestion was unwelcome to Torquil, and realized that he was afraid his cousin would outshine him. Half his pleasure in the sport arose from the applause which greeted his best shots. It was regrettable, but understandable: even pathetic, Kate thought; and wished she had held her tongue.

But Mr Philip Broome said hastily: “No, no, I’m no match for Torquil! I haven’t played quoits for years!”

The cloud vanished from Torquil’s brow. He laughed, and said boastfully: “I have never played before!”

“Doing it too brown, you young gull-catcher!”

“I swear it’s true!” Torquil said, his eyes alight with glee. “Matthew, isn’t it true?”

“I’m afraid it is,” said the doctor, with a lugubrious shake of his head. “There’s no beating you at it!”

“Oh, isn’t there, by Jove?” said Philip. “That puts me on my mettle! Have at you, Jack-sauce! Cousin, if you mean to sit on the steps, sit on my coat!”