“I leave them all in your care,” he had said.

Was there meaning in his smile—­was it a little entreaty to her to be “good” during his absence?

“Well, she’s in bed, any way,” says Tita; “and the question is, what shall we do now?”

“Dance!” says someone.

But they have been dancing every evening, and there seems nothing very special about that.

“I tell you what,” says Tita; “let us have hide-and-seek!”

“Oh, how lovely!” cries Mrs. Chichester, springing to her feet.  “What a heavenly suggestion!”

“Yes; two to hunt, and all the rest to hide in couples,” says Tom Hescott.

It has occurred to him that he would like to hunt with Tita, or else to hide with her; and it might be managed.  Margaret, who happens to be looking at him, makes a slight movement forward.

“Perhaps we should disturb Miss Gower!” says she anxiously.

“Oh no!” says Mrs. Bethune quickly.  “Her room is in the north wing.  If we confine our game to this part of the house, she can never hear us.”

“Still, it seems such a silly thing to do!” says Margaret nervously.

She distrusts Marian where Tita is concerned.  Why should she advocate the game—­she who is the embodiment of languor itself, to whom any sort of running about would mean discomfort?

“Dear Margaret,” says Mrs. Bethune, in a low voice, but a distinct one—­one quite loud enough for Colonel Neilson to hear, who is standing near Miss Knollys—­“don’t give way to it; don’t let it conquer you—­too soon!”

“It?—­what?” asks Margaret unconsciously.

“Middle age!” sweetly, and softly always, but with a rapid glance at Neilson.  She leans back and smiles, enjoying the quiet blush that, in spite of her, rises to Margaret’s cheek.  “I feel it coming,” says she.  “Even I feel it.  But why encourage it?  Why not let these children have their game, without a check from us who are so much older?”

“That is not the question,” says Margaret coldly, who has now recovered herself.  “My thought was that perhaps Maurice might not approve of this most harmless, if perhaps——­”

“Frivolous performance.  Of course, if you are going to manage Maurice and Maurice’s wife,” with a strange laugh, “there is no more to be said.  But I wish you joy of the last task.  And as for Maurice,” with a curl of her lips, "he is not a prig.”

“Well, neither am I, I hope,” says Margaret, with perfect temper.

She turns away, Colonel Neilson, who is furious with Mrs. Bethune, following her.  As for the latter, she looks after Margaret until she is out of sight, and for once, perhaps, is sorry for her rudeness.  She likes Margaret, but she is out of heart to-night and irritable.  The absence of Rylton, the coming of her aunt, all tend to disturb her.  And Rylton had gone without a word, a look even!—­he who always dwelt upon her words, had studied her looks; he had not given her one farewell sign.  She had waited to see if he would give one to Tita; but he had not—­at least, nothing in particular—­nor had Tita run out to the hall to see him off.  She had blown him a little kiss from behind the urn, which he had accepted calmly, and that was all!