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Charles, of course, had gone home long ago. She was perfectly safe from interception now! So, confidently, she stepped out into the drive—and, too late, saw him.

He was standing in the shadow of a tree resting his back against it, his arms folded, his eyes on the moon, even as hers had been.

But as he heard her step he straightened up, and for a moment, panic-stricken, she thought that he was coming towards her. Almost she slipped back into the protecting woods, but now that he knew she was there, they would be no protection. Yet she must avoid a conversation at all costs! In this mood of uncertainty and disillusion she would be at such a disadvantage.

Then she realised that he had obviously no intention of coming nearer to her.

She heard his voice, deep and oddly musical.

“Good night, dryad!”

Then he turned and strolled quietly away.

In the morning Judith said carelessly:

“I suppose I shall be wanting more clothes for this holiday you insist on?”

Miss Harriet, startled but unwilling to let her niece see it, carefully folded the letter she was reading and put it back into its envelope before she answered.

“Yes, I suppose you will. Why not consult Linda about it?”

Judith’s dark lashes swept her cheek.

“Oh, Linda is too busy,” she replied. “It would not be fair to ask her.”

“No,” Miss Harriet replied judicially. “Perhaps not. Although she has very good taste. What will you do. then?”

Judith did not seem to find it very easy to reply.

“I thought you and I might go up to town for a few days. You will need some new things as well, I expect ”

“I do,” Miss Harriet agreed. “All right. When shall we go?”

“At once!” Judith said recklessly. “Well—the day after to-morrow?” as she saw how doubtful her aunt looked. “I mean, it isn’t any good wasting time—and though I expect a lot of the things can be bought ready made, I want a new suit.”

Well, Miss Harriet thought drily, if this was the result of Linda’s wearing that spectacular, elegant frock, one could only regard it as a miracle and accept it with gratitude!

“I’ll make a hotel reservation and so on,” Miss Harriet promised. “Train or car?”

Judith thought.

“Car, I think. We can bring things back more easily, and, besides, it won’t be so sticky and dirty!”

And if Charles, when he heard about it, wondered whether he was not being given an additional bit of rope in order that he might hang himself as rapidly as possible, perhaps he should be forgiven.

Anyhow, as a result of it, he wrote a long letter to his sister-in-law and had one back by return of post which evidently gave him considerable pleasure.

It was the first time that Judith had left Windygates for more than a year and, to her surprise, she experienced a strange sense of freedom when they had left the well-known scene behind and were on the open road. She and Miss Harriet took it in turns to drive and, even with a stop for lunch, found themselves on the outskirts of London some four and a half hours after they had started.

It was a hot day, but tempered with a soft little breeze—which was just as well, otherwise a country girl like Judith would probably have felt too tired to take any interest in her surroundings. As it was, she found plenty to interest her, although, as she told her aunt in all sincerity, she could not understand how anybody could possibly live in London.

“It seems awful,” she said seriously. “Here it was all fields that used to provide food for the Londoners and now the houses have swallowed up the land and" the food has to come from miles away! They can’t ever know what it is like to have a lettuce that is just crisp from the earth or tomatoes that taste like they smell because they are so fresh!”

“Oh yes, they can,” Miss Harriet said promptly. “Most people have gardens, you know, and they grow things for themselves. It must be just as wonderful for them to go out and pick their own produce as it is for you. More, perhaps, because it’s all so personal.”

“Yes,” Judith said doubtfully as if she did not quite understand, and left it at that. It occurred to her aunt that there had been a time, not so very long ago, when she would have argued about a thing like that.

They had a double bedroom in a hotel which overlooked the Park, and Judith, leaning out of the window, said over her shoulder:

“I’m glad about the trees!”

Miss Harriet, knowing that they would arrive too late to do any shopping, had got tickets for a theatre, and Judith, in spite of her dislike for being shut in when she could be out of doors, made no protest. Actually, when she got there, she became so absorbed in it that during the intervals she could not talk. It was all so real, so important, that she could only wait, bemused and entranced, until the next act began. And when it was all over she followed her aunt, still in a dream, to the real world with feet that seemed reluctant to leave fantasy behind.

Miss Harriet, seeing her starry eyes, felt it in her heart to pity her dead brother. He had had it in his power to bring that light to his girl’s eyes. And he had never thought it worth while. Rather, he had bent her to his own whims, ignoring her needs and thinking only of his own pleasure and satisfaction.

Perhaps, Miss Harriet thought sadly, it was because she herself had never had any children that she could wonder in amazement how casually people took the responsibility of other human beings who were dependent on them. Few people would deliberately neglect a child’s physical needs, but what a terrible lot there were who were completely indifferent to their mental ones! Strange how often one heard about the duty of children towards their parents, but how rarely that uncomfortable word was used the other way round. And yet, surely," that was how it ought to be. One had a child and one did the best possible for it. And if you had given your child the right ideas, in its turn it passed on what you had done for it to the next generation. Looking forward all the time, not backward. Surely that was the right way!

She realised that Judith was speaking to her. Was it too late to go down to the Embankment and see what the river looked like?

Miss Harriet, herself reluctant to go indoors on such a night, led the way through narrow lanes until they came to the river that glittered just as bravely in the light of the moon as it would in its upper reaches where trees were reflected in its changing mirror instead of the harsh outlines of the buildings which only the night made beautiful.

For a long while Judith gazed, and her aunt did not interrupt her thoughts, though, to herself, she admitted that she was curious to know what they were.

A little launch belonging to the River Police shot downstream, disturbing the silver path of the moon and shattering the smooth water into a thousand sparkling sequins. When it had passed and everything had grown still again, Judith gave a little sigh and turned away.

“Shall we go back now?” she asked in a voice that was suddenly tired.

They got back to their hotel to find that, during their absence, Mr. Bellairs had called and left his card.

“Do you think there is anything wrong?” Judith asked anxiously. “It seems odd that he should come here specially.”

“Oh, he hasn’t just come up from Wyford,” Miss Harriet told her. “He came yesterday, on business. He said he would call, but I did not quite know when.”

“All the same, why should he call?” Judith worried. “Unless there was something he needed to tell us.”

“He probably called because he wanted to see me,” her aunt said pleasantly. She hesitated for a moment, and then went on: “It is probably news to you that Hugh Bellairs and I were engaged at one time. We have always remained friends!”

“But—” Judith stared at her uncomprehendingly. “If you were engaged, why didn’t you get married?”

Again Miss Harriet hesitated, but at length she said, slowly:

“The wedding was two months-off when—your mother died, Judith. Your father needed me—and so did you. So I postponed the wedding, as I thought, temporarily. But, somehow—” she shook her head. Even now she could not understand how it was that she had ever been so foolish. She ought to have
made
Mark understand.

But Judith understood. Deep down in her heart she had always known that her father never troubled to see anything from any other point of view than his own. He had needed a housekeeper, so Aunt Harriet had to give up the idea of having a home of her own. Judith shook her head.

“I did not know, I’m sorry.” Her voice trailed off inconclusively. “I think I will go to bed!”

She went to her room, but her aunt lingered for a moment, thinking over the last few moments. And in particular, over Judith’s last words. Probably it had never entered her head before to wonder just how it had come about that her aunt had taken over the running of the house. But if it had, surely it would not have been surprising if she had taken the attitude that anyone was lucky to have a chance of living at Windygates. Now, even though she might, at heart, still think that, it had at least been clear to her that evidently Miss Ravensdale did not share that feeling. She might even go so far as realising that some people would say she had been unfairly treated.

But with her own feelings Miss Harriet was not concerned. What interested her was that this was the first indication she had ever had that Judith was growing away from her father’s influence. It sent her to bed refreshed and hopeful.

The following evening Judith dined alone at the hotel. Mr. Bellairs had come round earlier in the evening and had firmly removed Miss Harriet without at the same time suggesting that Judith should join them.

Not that Judith minded. She was used to her own company and, besides, she had acquired various farming papers during the day and wanted to go through them. So, after she had dined, she settled herself in a remote corner of the hotel lounge and became absorbed in her papers. But not for long. She had chosen her secluded corner because she did not want people to start talking to her. But by chance there was no one else in the room, and after a while it seemed to become increasingly big and unfriendly. She sneezed, and the small sound seemed positively to echo through the empty room. The papers lay in a heap beside her as she sat gazing rather fixedly at a portrait of an incredibly smug-faced child, wondering what was happening at Windygates.

But thinking of home only made her feel more lonely, and it was a relief even when one of the hotel reception staff came in, obviously looking for someone. Suddenly the man caught sight of her and came hurrying up.

“Miss Ravensdale? A lady and gentleman are asking for you—Sir Roger and Lady Garwin.”

“Oh!” Judith jumped to her feet. Charles’s half-brother and his wife! She felt that it was rather an embarrassing situation and wished with all her heart that her aunt was there. But she was not, and Judith had no choice but to see them—supposing Charles had written to them telling them what she had said.

“I will come,” she said quickly, and followed the man out of the room.

They were sitting together on a small settee, talking, and without in the least being able to explain why, Judith knew that though they were the sort of people who were bound to have a great many friends, they would always enjoy one another’s company more than any other. It must be rather wonderful, she thought, when two people did feel like that—but most unusual, she decided with the dogmatism of youth.

Then Mary saw her and smiled, and that horrible little feeling of being out in the cold vanished. Roger stood up to greet her and said pleasantly:

“Charles knew that we were to be in town and asked us to call.”

“But please tell us if it is not convenient,” Mary added gently.

What a lovely child! she was thinking. But how very young and defenceless! Was Charles attracted by that? One could never tell what attracted a man, but Charles was one of the two nicest men she knew, and he might be able to see past the proud tilt of the little head and the chin and mouth that could obviously be so aggressive.

“It is quite convenient,” Judith said with unconscious eagerness. “I was all alone! Will you come into the lounge? We, shall have it all to ourselves.”

She led the way, and Mary and Roger followed her. At the door of the room Judith stood aside for them to pass and then, for the first time, realised that Roger limped. Judith’s heart filled with pity. She had hardly known a day’s illness in her life, and to see a man who was still far from old and otherwise healthy condemned to take nothing but halting steps for the rest of his life seemed terrible to her. Mary, seeing the expression on her face, felt reassured. If Charles did care for the child, it was good to know that she was capable of such tender pity.

“Would you like some coffee—or something to drink?” Judith asked anxiously. It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first time that she had ever been hostess entirely on her own. Her interest was all with the farm and it had suited her, as it had suited her father, to leave the house management to her aunt. Now she wished that she knew a little more about such situations as this. Had she said the right thing! She had taught herself to drink shandy, but even that she did not really enjoy. And now, she would have to have more or less what they did, she supposed.

“A cup of coffee would be very nice,” Mary said gently. She was, of course, unable to read what was running through the child’s mind, but obviously she was nervous, and pouring out coffee would give her something to do with her hands, which would be helpful. And judging by the fact that Judith gave an unconscious little sigh of relief, she had said the right thing.

All the same, conversation lagged a little until Roger brought up Charles’s name by saying:

“Charles tells me that you have a remarkably good herd of Herefords—and he knows what he is talking about! We go in a lot for sheep in our part of the country, but he has built up a very good herd for me.”

“You’ve had some champions, haven’t you?” Judith said eagerly, and then, as the words left her lips, she remembered that first encounter with Charles in Wyford, and her cheeks flushed ever so little. Perhaps he
had
meant to be helpful.