“I will be in the drawing-room after dinner,” Lady Newhaven whispered, hoarsely.  “I won’t dine down.  I can’t bear to see him.”

It was all unreal, except the jealousy which suddenly took Rachel by the throat and nearly choked her.

“I have undertaken what is beyond my strength,” she said to herself, as she hastily dressed for dinner.  “How shall I bear it when she speaks of him?  How shall I go through with it?”

Presently she was dining alone with Lord Newhaven.  He mentioned that it was Dick Vernon with whom he had been walking when she arrived.  Dick was staying in Southminster for business, combined with hunting, and had ridden over.  Lord Newhaven looked furtively at Rachel as he mentioned Dick.  Her indifference was evidently genuine.

“She has not grown thin and parted with what little looks she possessed on Dick’s account,” he said to himself; and the remembrance slipped across his mind of Hugh’s first word when he recovered consciousness after drowning—­“Rachel.”

“I would have asked Dick to dine,” continued Lord Newhaven, when the servants had gone, “but I thought two was company and three none, and that it was not fair on you and Violet to have him on your hands, as I am obliged to go to London on business by the night express.”

He was amazed at the instantaneous effect of his words.

Rachel’s face became suddenly livid, and she sank back in her chair.  He saw that it was only by a supreme effort that she prevented herself from fainting.  The truth flashed into his mind.

“She knows,” he said to himself.  “That imbecile, that brainless viper to whom I am tied, has actually confided in her.  And she and Scarlett are in love with each other, and the suspense is wearing her out.”

He looked studiously away from her, and continued a desultory conversation; but his face darkened.

The little boys came in, and pressed themselves one on each side of their father, their eyes glued on the crystallized cherries.  Rachel had recovered herself, and she watched the children and their father with a pain at her heart, which was worse than the faintness.

She had been unable to believe that if Lord Newhaven had drawn the short lighter he would remain quietly here over the dreadful morrow, under the same roof as Teddy and Pauly.  Oh, surely nothing horrible could happen so near them!  Yet he seemed to have no intention of leaving Westhope.  Then, perhaps, he had not drawn the short lighter, after all.  At the moment when suspense, momentarily lulled, was once more rising hideous, colossal, he casually mentioned that he was leaving by the night train.  The reason was obvious.  The shock of relief almost stunned her.

“He will do it quietly to-morrow away from home,” she said to herself, watching him with miserable eyes, as he divided the cherries equally between the boys.  She had dreaded going up-stairs to Lady Newhaven, but anything was better than remaining in the dining-room.  She rose hurriedly, and the boys raced to the door and struggled which should open it for her.