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They spent an intensive hour going over everything that had happened, the dark head and the fair one bent close together over books and papers.

“Oh, by the way, are you going to enter Trumpeter for the Show?” he asked when they had gone through everything.

“Yes, of course,” Judith said promptly. “Why not?”

Charles shrugged his shoulders.

“Only that—he rather swept the board last year, didn’t he?” he suggested mildly.

“He’s an extremely good bull,” Judith pointed out promptly. “Why shouldn’t he?”

“Yes,” Charles said slowly. “Only—don’t you think that very fact is rather discouraging for other people who can’t hope to beat you?”

“Not a bit,” Judith said promptly, all her old arrogance returning at the suggestion. “If other farmers took as much care as has always been taken here, they would stand a chance just as I do! But if I withdrew, someone else would win with an inferior beast and standards would drop. Surely you must see that?”

Charles was silent, and Judith frowned.

“You do see it, don’t you?” she demanded.

“I think there is a feeling that you have greater opportunities—that you have more money behind you,” he explained.

Judith’s eyes flashed.

“That isn’t true!” she said forcefully. “My farm pays, as you know! It is true that I have got other means besides, but I live on what the farm makes and maintain a far more expensive house than most of them have got!”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But all the same, you have the knowledge that, if there is a bad year, you have got other money to see you through. Consequently, too, you can afford to lock up more capital in good buildings and fertilisers and so on!”

Judith stood up.

“Of course, you are a newcomer here, but I should have thought you would have realised by now that the whole essence of a show like this is that everybody enters—no matter what their social position. Don’t you see that though they may think Windygates wins because there is more money behind it, if I didn’t enter for the various competitions they would be sure to say that I thought too much of myself! They always find something to criticise, you know!”

So she realised that, did she! Evidently she was not so oblivious to village ways as he had imagined. Or perhaps it was that she had a blind spot where her own personal affairs were concerned.

“Surely your brother shows locally, doesn’t he?” she went on and he had to admit that it was so. “Well, then!”

And Charles knew that, short of telling her the truth as he believed it to be, he would never convince her. Probably he wouldn’t even if he did try to explain, for there was still no proof; his suspicions were certainties only in his own mind.

“I’ll fill up the form for you to sign,” he said slowly, and went back to his work a rather troubled man. He could not convince her without proof, but finding that proof would mean that the trouble was coming to a head. And that was the last thing that he wanted.

Desmond came in the same evening and stayed for an hour or so. He was amusing and entertaining and had no reason to complain of unresponsiveness in Judith. Indeed, her frequent laughter and the amount of interest she showed in their visitor put an idea into Miss Harriet’s head that made her grow silent and thoughtful.

Linda was quite right in thinking that Miss Harriet did not like her, but in fact it was Desmond whom she really mistrusted most. He was far too charming and easy-going ever to make his way in the world without assistance, and Miss Harriet had no wish for Judith to be the one who provided that assistance. Some women might not suffer by being the leading spirit in a marriage, but Judith would. Inevitably she would grow more and more aggressive, less her true self. No, what she wanted was a man sufficiently strong not to be a bully, who would allow her to have a personality of her own yet would not let her deny him the same right. It was a lot to ask of a human being, but supposing one did find such a man, he would certainly not be Desmond’s type.

However, there was nothing that she could do about it. Judith had been friendly with the Enstones all her life, and to suggest that Desmond would not make the best sort of husband might be putting ideas into Judith’s head that were not there so far. But that they were in Desmond’s she had little doubt. She as well as Judith had known both brother and sister since they were little children, and had noticed that trick of theirs of regarding, through narrowed eyes, anything which was the subject of more than usual interest to them. Their father had had the same trick—and he had looked at a youthful Harriet like that, too. It was too deliberate, too calculating to be pleasant. She remembered shivering when Laurence Enstone had looked at her in just that way. He had proposed to her shortly after, and she had refused him—odd to think that Desmond and Linda might have been her children, and to wonder whether she would have been strong enough to give them the something that they lacked. With half an ear, now, she listened to what Desmond was saying.

“Linda was sorry that she could not come with me, but she is very busy. I told her it served her right. A working girl ought not to go gadding about to dances night after night.”

“Night after ” Judith began rather blankly, when Miss Harriet interrupted her.

“On the contrary, Linda needs more amusement than she gets!” she said briskly. “All work and no play is as bad for Jill as it is for Jack, you know!”

She collected up her needlework and went out of the room, leaving rather a silent couple behind her. Desmond stared moodily at the door through which she had vanished.

“That was one in the. eye for me!” he commented. “It isn’t the first one either! Most people seem to think that I am living on Linda—she thinks so as well, so probably it is true. But what the deuce can I do? Women always seem to be able to turn their hand to something, but most worthwhile jobs for men need specialised training, and that I’ve never had. Of course I know a bit about farming, and it interests me, but not enough really to take charge, and who wants to be bothered with training a wastrel like me?”

Judith looked troubled. It was not like her old friend to be so introspective and glum, and it hurt her. Des was always so gay, so able to convey something of his light-heartedness to those he was with.

“No, Des, not a waster. Things have never quite gone your way, have they?”

He smiled ruefully and took one of her small, capable hands in his.

“That’s the way I tell myself it is,” he admitted. “And it is sweet of you to do the same! None the less, it never occurred to anyone that I should take over for you instead of Saxilby, and why? For the simple reason that I’m not only ignorant but indolent!”

“No!” Judith said sharply. “You mustn’t talk like that! People are what they believe they are! Let me think, Des!”

He was silent, noting with satisfaction that she allowed her hand to remain in his.

“Would you like to come and work here?” she said at length, slowly. “No, not in charge, I’m afraid,” as she saw his look of surprise. “But to learn. I could have a word with Mr. Saxilby about it—you could learn a lot from him!”

Desmond’s eyes narrowed speculatively.

“Your opinion of him has changed, hasn’t it?” he asked.

Judith shrugged her shoulders.

“I suppose it has,” she admitted. “I admit that I was suspicious of his ability when he came, but—I’m beginning to realise he does know his job!”

“But you still don’t like him personally?” he suggested softly.

Judith hesitated.

“I still think he is too aggressive and autocratic,” she said at length. “I don’t think people like him very much.” She made a gesture that dismissed the subject. “But how about it, Des? Would you like to come?”

Now it was his turn to hesitate. There were quite a lot of things to be said in favour of the idea, but one very strong one against it. It altered the relationship between Judith and himself, and he did not think it would be for the better. True, he could convince her of his real interest in Windygates, but on the other hand, it was one thing to visualise working there as husband of its owner, quite another to be the pupil of her agent.

“I’ll think it over, Judith, if you don’t mind,” he said at length, adding hastily: “And I’m not hesitating because I don’t like the idea. It’s just—there is more to be thought of than appears on the surface.”

“What?” Judith asked, uncomprehendingly.

Desmond regarded her thoughtfully.

“Well—gossip, for one thing,” he pointed out. “I mean, if your father were still alive, I wouldn’t hesitate at all, Judith. But—it is rather different now, isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why,” Judith said stubbornly. “You mean that they will start linking our names together immediately? Well, why should we worry? They have to have something to talk about, and you know as well as I do that they soon tire of it if one takes no notice! Besides, we’re such old friends and we’ve been about so much together that I expect they’ve long since given up trying to marry us off!”

Desmond could have kicked himself for ever having introduced the idea at all, for Judith’s matter-of-fact reactions were not in the least what he had wanted. He would, he realised, have to use more definite tactics to suggest to her the new relationship which he had in mind. But for the present the sooner he terminated this visit the better, he decided, and a little later he got up.

But just as he was getting into his car, he halted.

“Heavens, I nearly forgot, and Linda would have given me what for! She’s organising a scavenger hunt on Sunday in aid of the Red Cross, and she told me I wasn’t to let you refuse! You will come, won’t you?”

“Oh—” Judith hesitated. “Des, I’m not awfully good at that sort of thing! I mean—of course, I know all the people here, but—I’ve never really been great friends with any of them. You see—I suppose it sounds rather nasty of me to say it, but the girls always seem so empty-headed arid giggly, and the men—I think they find me too bossy and—critical. Am I, Des?”

He laughed and ruffled her hair.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But not as much as you used to be,” he added, seeing her troubled face. “Anyway, you and I will be partners, so it won’t matter about anyone else. So you will come, won’t you?”

“All right,” Judith promised, and then, just as he was about to start: “Des?”

He turned with a smile, but Judith shook her head.

“No, never mind,” she said harshly. “It’s nothing.”

She had been on the point of asking him if Charles was taking part in the hunt and who was to be his partner. And then, all at once, she had known that she would die rather than show any interest at all in Charles’s affairs.

“Yes, of course I’m taking part,” Linda said as she slit open the sealed envelope. “I’ve no more idea than the rest of you what we’ve got to find, because I got Mrs. Hannay to make up the list! Here you are!”

She handed round the sheets of paper, one to each couple, who read them avidly amid a chorus of groans and laughter.

“Heavens above, where on earth can one find a beadwork antimacassar these days?” protested one entrant.

“I know where there’s one!” a girl said eagerly, only to be hastily suppressed by her partner.

“Well, there you are!” Linda declared. “Ordinary rules—no fetching things from your own houses and no paying more than sixpence for any article! We start in two minutes—eight o’clock—and report back here at ten-thirty. We’ll use the church clock, then there’s no arguing! Wait for it!”

They waited for the striking of the clock on the church tower, and watches were set. Then they were off.

In spite of the age of his car, Desmond was off to a racing start, with Judith beside him. He said complacently:

“That ought to do us a bit of good! Now then, read out the exact description of the place where we’ve got to clock in first. Something about a tower on a hill, isn’t it?”

Judith did not reply immediately. She was looking back over her shoulder. Charles was following them closely and beside him—Linda. Desmond, looking into his driving-mirror, knew what she had seen, and his jaw set rather grimly. He wished to heaven Linda wasn’t quite so obvious! Many a girl had found a man interesting only when she realised that another girl was attracted to him. And Judith was an odd girl—he had been right when he had said that the right description of her was ‘unawakened.’ But he wanted to be the one that did the waking up—not Saxilby.

They reached the check-point ahead of all the others, thanks to Desmond’s knowledge of a short cut that no one else would think of putting a car to. But, as Desmond said quite cheerfully, there was something to be said for having an old car. It couldn’t be battered much more than it was and, having no false ideas about its own importance, would submit to rough-and-ready repairs at which another car would turn up its nose.

“Full marks!” Desmond reported as he got back into the car after having had his instruction sheet initialled by the man at the check-point. “Wanted to see my driving licence—got another ten points for having it with me. Come on! Read out the list.”

It. was an amusing list and one likely to test the ingenuity of the entrants to the utmost. And, in this case, Desmond, it appeared, had far more notion of where they might be able to borrow the necessary articles than Judith had.

“I thought the lady of the manor always knew everybody and all about their belongings,” Desmond commented, evidently slightly surprised. “You know, going round with good nourishing soup and red flannel petticoats!”

“Oh!” Judith said with rather forced lightness, “that sort of thing has gone out of fashion now! People would regard it as being impudence. They like to keep their cottages to themselves. Besides—I’ve never had time for that sort of thing. Whatever has been necessary, Aunt Harriet has done.”

Desmond looked at her quizzically.

“You don’t have to apologise to me, love!” he commented. “And, anyway, I expect you are quite right. Times have changed! Now then—a pair of
pince-nez
— hang it, we’ve got some at home, but that’s against the rules. I know, how about the Rector?”