Raymond’s face and neck crimsoned, but Raymond’s presence helped her to rein in her temper; and she thought of Julius, and refrained from more than a “Very well.  It was meant as a harmless joke, and—­and if you—­you did not take it so, I am very sorry.”

Raymond saw the effort, and looked at his wife for softening; but as he saw none, he met the advance by saying kindly, “I am sure it was so meant, though the moment was unfortunate.”

“Indeed it was so,” cried Rosamond, feeling it much easier to speak to him, and too generous to profess her own innocence and give up Tom.  “It was just a moment’s idle fancy—­just as we’ve chaffed one another a hundred times; and for the Blockhead, it is the boys’ pet old stock charade that they’ve acted scores of times.  It was mere thoughtlessness; and I’ll do or say anything Cecil pleases, if only she won’t bother Julius or Mrs. Poynsett about our foolishness.”  And the mist of tears shone in the dark lashes as she held out her hand.

“I cannot suppose it mere thoughtlessness—­” began Cecil; but Raymond cut her short with angry displeasure, of which she had not supposed him capable.  “This is not the way to receive so kind an apology.  Take Rosamond’s hand, and respond properly.”

To respond properly was as little in Cecil’s power as her will; but she had not been an obedient daughter for so large a proportion of her life without having an instinct for the voice of real authority, and she did not refuse her hand, with the words, “If you express regret I will say no more about it.”

And Rosamond, thinking of Julius and his mother, swallowed the ungraciousness, and saying “Thank you,” turned to go away.

“Thank you most heartily for this, my dear Rosamond,” said Raymond, holding out his hand as he opened the door for her; “I esteem it a very great kindness.”

Rosamond, as she felt the strong pressure of his hand, looked up in his face with a curious arch compassion in her great gray eyes.  He shut the door behind her, and saw Cecil pouting by the mantelpiece, vexed at being forced into a reconciliation, even while she knew she could not persist in sending all the family except Frank to Coventry.  He was thoroughly angry at the dogged way in which she had received this free and generous peace-making, and he could not but show it.  “Well,” he said, “I never saw an apology made with a better grace nor received with a worse one.”

Cecil made no reply.  He stood for a minute looking at her with eyes of wondering displeasure, then, with a little gesture of amazement, left the room.

Cecil felt like the drowning woman when she gave the last scissor-like gesture with her fingers.  She was ready to fall into a chair and cry.  A sense of desolateness was very strong on her, and that look in his dark eyes had seemed to blast her.

But pride came to her aid.  Grindstone was moving about ready to dress her for dinner.  No one should see that she was wounded, or that she took home displeasure which she did not merit.  So she held up her head, and was chilling and dignified all dinner-time; after which she repaired to Lady Tyrrell’s conversazione.