On such occasions Nan sometimes felt that it was almost a physical impossibility to enter that formal dining-room and face the glacial disapproval manifest on Lady Gertrude’s face, the quick glance of condolence which Isobel would throw her—­and which always somehow filled her with distrust—­and the irritability which Roger was scarcely able to conceal.

Roger’s annoyance was generally due to the veiled criticism which his mother and cousin contrived to exude prior to her appearance.  Nothing definite—­an intonation here, a double-edged phrase there—­but enough to show him that his future wife fell far short of the standard Lady Gertrude had in mind for her.  It nettled him, and accordingly he felt irritated with Nan for giving his mother a fresh opportunity for disapprobation.

They were all unimportant things—­these small jars and clashes of habit and opinion.  But to Nan, who had been used to such absolute freedom, they were like so many links of a chain which held and chafed her.  She fretted under them as a caged bird frets.  Gradually, too, she was awakening to the limitations of the life which would be hers when she married Roger, realising that, much as he loved her, he was quite unable to supply her with either the kind of companionship or the mental stimulus her temperament craved and which the little coterie of clever, brilliant people who had been her intimates in town had given her in full measure.  The Trenbys’ circle of friends interested her not at all.  The men mostly of the sturdy, sporting type, bored her ineffably, and she found the women, with their perpetual local gossip and discussion of domestic difficulties, dull and uninspiring.  Of the McBains, unfortunately, she saw very little, owing to the distance, between the Hall and Trevarthen Wood.

It was, therefore, with a cry of delight that she welcomed Sandy, who arrived in his two-seater shortly after Roger had ridden off to the meet.  Lady Gertrude and Isobel had already gone out together, bent upon some parochial errand in the village, so that Nan was alone with her thoughts.  And they were not particularly pleasant ones.

“Sandy!” She greeted him with outstretched hands.  “You angel boy!  I wasn’t even hoping to see you for another few weeks or so.”

“Just this minute arrived—­thought it about time I looked you up again,” returned Sandy cheerfully.  “I met Trenby about a mile away and scattered his horses and hounds to the four winds of heaven with my stink-pot.”

“Yes,” agreed Nan reminiscently.  “Why does your car smell so atrociously, Sandy?”

“It’s only in slow movements—­never in a presto.  That’s why I’m always getting held up for exceeding the speed limit.  I’m bound to let her rip—­out of consideration to the passersby.”

“Well, I’m awfully glad you felt moved to come over here this morning.  I’m—­I’m rather fractious to-day, I think.  Do you suppose Lady Gertrude will ask you to stay to lunch?”