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When Clive saw the contents of the house he said he would take everything as it stood. The furniture was more solid than tasteful, but then, he imagined, it would be more durable under the rough handling of children. The house, as Mr. Weir had pointed out, was very pleasantly situated and he saw its isolation as no drawback.

There were three reception rooms, a quite sizeable hall, and offices; four bedrooms and dressing rooms on the first floor, and tour attic rooms on the second floor. There was a stable yard bordered by a coach house and two loose boxes. It was a small but very desirable residence. He complimented Mr. Weir on his choice.

Later, as he rode along the Gallowgate through the Bigg Market and the Groat Market and through the comparatively new Collingwood and Dean Streets which sported flag pavements and whose shops had display glass windows, he thought, I'll bring her and show her it all. I doubt if she's ever seen the shops in 280 l the city, and she must be dressed.

Yes, before she takes up residence she must be dressed.

He went to the Club, but only for a meal; and his drinking was moderate because he knew he must keep a clear head. He had an odd feeling that there was something afoot in the House; things were too quiet, his father too studiously polite, Isabelle too controlled, but not so controlled that she could cover her hate of him. But this did not trouble him too much.

He had come into the city on horseback and he had already traveled two-thirds of the return journey when he left the main road, took the side road that led to Rosier's village, then mounted the open fells.

He gazed about him as he rode. The sky was low, seeming to rest in the distance on the hillocks. The ground in parts was hard and slippery under the horse's feet, while in others the animal had to plough through quagmires almost up to its knees. This, he told himself, was the scene that she looked upon all winter, had looked upon for many winters, and had survived and brought her young family through to survive. And there was now joined to the uncontrollable secret feeling she created in him a deep admiration for her.

When he reached the habitation there was no one in sight, and when he knocked on the door there was no answer, and he knew a keen disappointment. But just as he was about to ride away she came up the slope from the track below. She was wearing a fawn shawl with a pink fringe; it was the first time he had seen her in a light color and it enhanced her. She was carrying a wicker basket in which there were various articles of grocery, and round her were the four children, and each of them was carrying something, large and small.

He led his horse forward and she slowed her step when he came up with her, and the children sprang away as the horse flung its head up and down and snorted loudly. He said haltingly, "I ... I was just passing.

I have some news I thought to give you."

"Yes, Sir." She moved her head towards him, then followed the children towards the dwelling where they stood waiting for her round the door.

Taking a large iron key from the pocket of her skirt, she inserted it in the lock; and as the children went inside she said to Sarah, "Here, take this," and handed her the basket. Then she turned and looked at him again.

He was standing by his horse's head now and smiling gently at her.

After a moment he said, "You told me your name was Cecilia." He made a little moue with his mouth, and leaned his head slightly to the side before he added, "Well, mine is Clive."

She gave no answering smile in return, nor did she speak, but once again a heat spread over her body and her face Hushed, Clive, he had said. She would as soon have thought of calling God "Bill" as calling this young man by his Christian name. Her feelings at the moment were strange to her for they were a mixture of excitement, wonderment, and fear, yet the latter was no longer connected with him.

He said quickly, "I have found a house. It is very pleasing. It is partly timbered, and isolated somewhat, being in the country, but the aspect all around is beautiful. In six days' time it will be vacant. I wonder it you would care to accompany me and view it before you take up residence there?"

He was speaking to her as he would to one of his own class. He talked of going to view, not having a look, and taking up residence, not going to live there.

When she hung her head he said, "What is it?" and she replied quietly,

"I'm troubled."

He took a step nearer to her, still holding the horse's bridle, and said, "Why? Why are you troubled?"

She looked up into his face and if she had spoken the truth she would have said, "Because Matthew was here last night and got into a rage and called me a fool."

"Ask yourself," he had said.

"Have you ever known any of his kind do one good turn without expecting something back? Even their feeding of the poor in the winter is just to keep them going because they'll need them come spring and summer on the land." Then he had taken her by the shoulders and, looking deeply into her eyes, said Hatly, "Sit quietly, Cissie, and ask yourself one question. Why is this fellow, who will one day be lord of the Hall, giving you his son, the son who he tells you he has claimed as legally his? Why? I'll tell you why. Because once you are in that house he'll be free to come and go. You can't stop him seeing his son because if you did he'd whip him away again. You'd be his kept woman, and that's how you'll be looked on in any case if you take his money and his house." He had ended by pleading, "Do as I say and let it be me who'll get you a place out of this." She had turned on him then crying, "It doesn't matter if I'm classed as your kept woman! As it is, you've made me name like darts, and I can't go even as far as the wood now but I see your wife watching me. Kept womani That's what she thinks I am, your ... your kept woman. It I go to his house I have the baim, if I go to yours I don't. And" --she had ended finally"--I want me baim."

He was waiting for an answer and she said softly, "It'll be a strange arrangement."

"Oh no." His voice was airy.

"There's nothing strange about it. You will be living in your own house with your own income. I can assure you everything is being done legally and proper. A temporary deed is being drawn up until the papers of register are ready, then they will be sent to you and no one will trouble you further. For myself, I am, as I have told you, returning to sea. I may be away for months, or years, but I would, naturally, at the end of a voyage like to see my son, and with your leave I will call upon you then. That will be all."

At the end of a voyage, and with your leave I will call upon you then.

It sounded so strange, yet quite above board. No smell of the kept woman was indicated by these words.

"Look," he now said with quiet persuasion, "let me call upon you tomorrow, and I will take you to see the house. At least the exterior, as the tenants won't be moving out until the end of the week. I will also take you to my solicitor and he will immediately put at your disposal the income you are to have in the future.... Then perhaps you might want to look at the shops." He did not mention clothes, he would leave that to her, at least for the time being.

There was a long pause before she said quietly, "Thank you."

"That's settled then. Can you be ready about ten o'clock in the morning? Or is that too early?"

"No" --she shook her head"--it's not too early." Not for someone who usually rose with the dawn no matter what time of day it came.

"Till tomorrow then." He bowed slightly towards her, and as he gathered the reins into his hand and prepared to mount she said hastily, "Your ... your father. What does he say now?"

He did not turn his face fully to her as he answered, "He is naturally against it. It could not be otherwise." And on this he mounted the horse, inclined his head downward and rode off.

His father was surprisingly civil to him at dinner. He opened the conversation with the shoot he had arranged for the week ahead, starting the next day. He spoke of his friend Bellingham, and suggested that he was likely to get better bags on the Houghton Estate than he had garnered from his own during the past week, the shortage of birds being put down to the activities of the poachers. He said he would be going out early in the morning and inquired if Clive would be accompanying him; and to this Clive're 5

plied politely that he was sorry but he had made arrangements to go into town. His Lordship had expressed regret but said there was always another day.

This conversation had taken place while the servants were waiting on the table; and although Clive knew his father was a stickler for etiquette and decorum, there had been many times, even since his return home, when, for much less reason than he had now, he had sat through the entire meal in silence.

Isabelle's attitude towards him was more comprehensible for she exchanged no word with him, excusing herself immediately after the meal was over and leaving the dining room. And he did not find her in the drawing room when he later went there; nor did he see her for the rest of the evening, and this he could understand.

The following morning he arrived downstairs in time to see the servants dispersing after prayers. He sat down to breakfast with his father and was not reprimanded for not having observed the rules of the house.

But there was no small talk this morning and the meal was passed in silence; and when Isabelle did not put in an appearance there was no remark made on her absence.

Just before the meal ended he said, "I would like to use the second coach; would that be in order?" And to this his father replied, as it the request had surprised him, "Oh yes. Yes, certainly."

Excusing himself, he left the table and in the hall he said to the third footman, "Kindly tell Bowmer I will be needing the second coach immediately."

He went up the stairs and onto the landing, and from there he saw Isabelle and her maid leave her room at the end of a corridor and mount the stairs to the nursery Hoor. She had not seen him, and he stopped and stared at her. She was not dressed for a shooting party but in a green corded costume suitable for traveling. The maid, too, was dressed for a your e they, and across her arm she was carrying her mistress's cloak.

He walked slowly towards his sister's bedroom and, gently opening the door, glanced in. The room was orderly, there was no sign of luggage or of a quick departure. Still moving slowly, he ascended the nursery stairs, and, on reaching the landing from which six doors led off, he walked quietly to the day nursery, and with a jerk he threw open the door and startled the nurse and the child.

The child recovered quickly and cried, "Oh! Papa. Are you coming for a walk with us?" and Clive, going to him where he sat dressed, except for his coat and bonnet, touched his hair, saying, "Not this morning, tomorrow perhaps. Yes, tomorrow surely."

At this the maid made a queer sound in her throat and he turned and looked at her. Her face was red and she started to cough. It was a choking cough, and he said to her, "Take a drink of water," and she turned from him and fled into the other room. And he stared after her for a moment, then walked quickly to the night nursery door and threw this open too, but it did not reveal his sister and her maid.

He came back to the child who, staring up into his face, said, "Papa, can I whisper?" and Clive, bending his ear down dose to the smiling mouth, said, "Yes;

what do you want to whisper? " And the boy in a conspiratorial manner, as if he were aware that this was a thing to be discussed between them alone, said, " When will I be able to play with the little girls again.

Papa? " Looking tenderly at him, his hand fondled his son's long curls, Clive said, " Soon, my son; quite soon. Be a good boy until I return.

Goodbye. "

"Good-bye, Papa."

Out on the landing, he looked towards the other doors. If he opened them and found her there what would he say? She was at liberty to take a drive without sanction from him. As he stood staring, her maid emerged from the staircase that led to the servants' quarters.

She stopped when she saw him and her agitation almost equaled that of the nurse.

Thoughtfully now he returned to his room, donned his cloak and hat, inserted a handkerchief into the cuff of his coat, and put a bag of sovereigns into his hip pocket; then -he went out and down the main staircase, across the hall, and on to the drive.

There he stood for a moment and looked up at the sky. It was high with great billowing white clouds going before the wind. As he brought his head down his eyes slid to the side, attracted by a movement in the window of his father's study, but when he turned and looked at it fully there was no one there.

In the stable yard he saw Morris fully dressed, and he thought it strange that his father should have ordered Morris to drive the second coach for there was strict protocol as to which groom drove which carriage. Then Bowmer came from the stables leading the two bays and the second coach, and he doffed his hat and said, "Good-morning Sir.

It's all ready. "

"Morning, Bowmer. By the way, is the first coach being used today?"

Bowmer seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said quietly, "Yes, Sir."

"Who is using it? I understood His Lordship was going to the shoot."

"I... I don't rightly know. Sir; I only know Morris got his orders last night to stand by."

Clive stared at the man. Morris got his orders last night to stand by?

His father was going to the shoot, and Isabelle was ready for a journey where? And this he put to the coachman, "Do you know where the carriage is bound tor?"

Bowmer seemed uneasy and his reply came, hesitant, "No, Sir." He looked at Clive through kindly eyes. He liked the young master and he knew there was business afoot to do him down. He might have strange ways but he was more human than anybody else in the house. He said now, slowly, "I only know, Sir, that the extra luggage rack has been put on the back." He held the young master's eyes until Clive said,

"Thank you, Bowmer," before walking to the carriage door. Bowmer jerked forward and opened it for him, and as he closed it Clive put his head near the window and said in an undertone, "Stop the carriage when you're two-thirds down the drive, say, near the cypress walk."