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“You know, Anthony, I never credited you with this amount of imagination,” Mrs. Trevose remarked thoughtfully. “It’s an entirely new aspect of your character!”

“But is it all imagination?” Fenella asked eagerly. “I’ve told you everything that Mr. Adair and I said to one another, but I don’t think I emphasised just how he said one thing?”

“No?” Anthony said alertly.

“It was after he’d said that there was a lot of drudgery for every discovery. I said I supposed that was so, but they had found some things, hadn’t they? At least, that was what people said. And when he answered, his manner was quite different. Up to then, it had been pleasantly friendly, free and easy. Then, quite suddenly, he was cagey. And somehow he managed to keep the conversation off that particular aspect of what they’re doing. And yet, really, it’s what they’re there for, isn’t it?”

“I’d have said so,” Anthony agreed. “All very intriguing, isn’t it? So much so, in fact, that I feel it merits a little discreet investigation. But on my part, if you please, Fen. Not yours. In fact, I’d be glad if you’d not only avoid a possible tete-a-tete with Tom, but also with Adair, since he’s obviously involved. I don’t want
you
to go vanishing in some inexplicable way. And I feel that’s just what might happen—if you found out too much.”

“Surely that’s rather an exaggeration, Anthony?” Mrs. Trevose suggested before Fenella could reply. “You mustn’t let that imagination of yours run away with you, you know! ”

“Oh, quite!” Anthony agreed crisply. “But I’d rather err on the cautious side, none the less. Promise, Fen?”

“All right,” Fenella promised, but for the first time that she could remember, she felt reluctant to fall in with Anthony’s wishes. Even resentful that he should ask her to.

She wasn’t sure that he didn’t sense her resentment, for with only the curtest of nods, he went back into the house.

There was silence under the big tree for a while. Then Mrs. Trevose said casually:

“And what else happened?”

Fenella, who had been lying back in the sunshine with her eyes closed, sat up with a jerk.

“What do you mean—what else happened?” she demanded, painfully conscious of the defensive note in her voice.

Mrs. Trevose smiled whimsically.

“Fenella darling. I’ve known you too long and too well not to know when there’s something on your mind. There is now.”

“I told you—”

Mrs. Trevose’s hand moved in a dismissive manner.

“You told us about this man Adair and about Tom Polwyn. But Anthony will look after that now, so you don’t have to worry any more. Yet, lying in that chair, to all intents and purposes comfortable and relaxed, there’s none the less a deep pucker between your eyebrows and your mouth was drooping. You’re not only worried—you’re unhappy. So what is it, dear? Or would you rather I didn’t know?”

‘You’ll hear, sooner or later—if you haven’t already,”

Fenella told her, her eyes fixed on the one small floating cloud in the blue sky. She drew a deep breath. “The Lancings are coming back to Poldean House. Did you know?”

“I’d heard a rumour to that effect, but nothing more,” Mrs. Trevose explained precisely. “So, not knowing whether it was true or not, I didn’t mention it.”

“It’s true,” Fenella told her. “Miss Prosser told me, and though she’s an appalling gossip, she’s always right. Besides, she told me that she’d got it from the Lancings’ housekeeper, Mrs. Dingle, and it’s too easy to check whether it’s true or not for her to have invented it, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do,” Mrs. Trevose said. And then, after a pause : “Did she say anything else?”

“Yes, she did,” Fenella said steadily. “She said that Rosemary’s coming with them—and that she’s a widow now.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Mrs. Trevose nodded. “It was really very tragic, so I understand. She married a man who was a racing motorist and he was killed on the track on what was to have been his last race. It happened just after we came here.”

“Oh, poor Rosemary!” Fenella exclaimed with spontaneous pity for her old friend. “How terrible for her! But why didn’t you say anything about it to me?” Mrs. Trevose hesitated, her lips pressed together. It was an awkward question, especially coming from Fenella. The truth was that she had never felt Rosemary was the right girl for Anthony, and though she had grieved for his unhappiness when the engagement had come to an end, it was impossible for her to regret that the girl was safely married to another man.

Since then, Fenella had been growing up, and Anthony had clearly found increasing pleasure in her company. Mrs. Trevose was beginning to feel more and more convinced that, in the not too distant future, they’d make a match of it.

But though she had always been determined not to force the issue, when the news of Rosemary’s bereavement came to her in a reliable though roundabout way, she had decided to keep the information to herself. It might well be that it would be of no interest to Anthony. On the other hand, one couldn’t be sure of that.

His old feeling for Rosemary might flare up again, and this time it would be tinctured with pity for her.

With a conscience that wasn’t perhaps quite at ease, she told herself that she had never tried to play the part of providence on Fenella’s behalf, so why should she feel there was any compulsion to do so on Rosemary’s? If chance and fate brought her and Anthony together again, that was an entirely different matter, and certainly, Mrs. Trevose assured herself, she would accept that. But surely, if she committed herself to a policy of not standing in the way of that happening, then she was equally justified in not encouraging it?

And now, it appeared, fate
had
decided to play a part. What was even worse, Fenella was asking awkward questions—

“Oh, it happened you were away when I heard about it,” Mrs. Trevose explained carefully. “And really, it was all so distressing that I felt the least said—” her voice died away as if she felt she had already said too much. As, indeed, Fenella’s next question proved was the case.

“You mean—because of Anthony?” she asked, intent on twisting a long piece of grass she had picked round her forefinger. Then, as there was no reply, she threw the grass away and faced Mrs. Trevose directly. “Rosemary
was
the girl who jilted Anthony, wasn’t she?”

“Miss Prosser again?” Mrs. Trevose asked resignedly, and when Fenella nodded: “That woman must be related to Miss Bates. Her tongue is loose at both ends!”

“I think it is,” Fenella agreed. “All the same, when I thought it over, I wondered that I'd never realised before that of course it must have been her! She was so lovely and such fun!”

“She was also completely heartless,” Mrs. Trevose said coldly. “And since you know so much, you may as well know the whole story. She and Anthony were engaged. They were going to be married in two months’ time. She went to town to do some trousseau shopping with her mother and was introduced to this man—Geoffrey Maidment. She made some excuse to stay on up in town —something about staying with an old school friend— after her mother returned here. Ten days later they were married, and the first that anyone, including Anthony, knew about it, was after the event. She hadn’t the courage to face up to him or her parents. And now, do you wonder that I don’t want—” she bit her lip, distressed at recalling the old story and vexed, perhaps at her own indiscretion.

Fenella was silent. How
could
anyone who was engaged to Anthony ever look twice at any other man, let alone marry him? But there was a more pressing question.

“Aunt Gina, does Anthony know about the Lancings coming back—or about Rosemary’s husband?”

Mrs. Trevose hesitated.

“About Rosemary’s husband, yes. About them all coming back to Poldean House—I'm honestly not sure, Fenella. I’ve been wondering about it ever since breakfast—” She shook her head. “At one moment, remembering what he said, I feel sure that he doesn’t. And then, looking at things from a different angle, I feel equally sure that he does. It all depends on—” and once again she stopped short.

“On whether Anthony has got over being in love with Rosemary or not,” Fenella was astonished to hear herself say quite composedly. “Yes, I’ve been thinking that.”

She stood up, her young shoulders squared, her chin well up. “Well, whichever it is, the Lancings must be asked to the garden party. And that, of course, includes Rosemary.”

Mrs. Trevose nodded. She knew that the child was right, that to do anything else would only make a difficult situation more difficult, possibly even dangerous. But she felt resentful that the making of such a decision should have been left to Fenella. Anthony ought to have made his position absolutely clear, if not to Fenella, then to herself.

“But of course, he may not know,” Fenella remarked thoughtfully, her line of thought having so closely followed that of Mrs. Trevose’s that the lady gave a little start of surprise. “In which case," Fenella went on, "he’s got to be told as quickly as possible. And by us. But of course, in a way that doesn’t suggest we think he may know already. That might embarrass him.”

She frowned a little as she considered the matter, and this time Mrs. Trevose was conscious of a sense of impatience that was directed against Fenella as well as Anthony. Why would the child always put Anthony’s feelings before her own? Didn’t she know that while a man may find the doormat type of girl useful, he rarely falls in love with her? But, surprisingly, Fenella went on slowly:

“Really, it could be embarrassing for all of us. So what I suggest, Aunt Gina, is that at dinner time, I simply pass on the news, say what fun it will be to have them back at Fairhaven, and that I do hope they’ll be returning in time for the party! ” She stopped a little breathlessly. “What do you think?”

“An excellent idea,” Mrs. Trevose said briskly, but as Fenella walked off to the house, she sighed as her eyes followed the slim, gallant figure.

Fenella, who had seemed to stay a child for so long, was at last growing up. And she was doing it the hard way.

The day of the party dawned faintly hazy with the promise of a hot day to come. It was a busy morning for Mrs. Trevose and Fenella since, despite their careful plans, there were a lot of last-minute tasks to be done as well as a watch to be kept that everyone who had promised various deliveries lived up to them. For a short time there was a mild panic over the supply of ice cream which was delayed because the delivery van had a minor breakdown.

Anthony, man-like holding aloof from the preparations unless directly requested for help, was inclined to be a little superior.

“You women! You panic so quickly! Now when I was at sea—”

“You gave your orders and they
had
to be carried out,” Mrs. Trevose interrupted. “Otherwise someone was in real trouble!”

“Well, why don’t you—" Anthony began, only to be interrupted again.

“Because this isn’t the Navy,” Mrs. Trevose snapped. “Nor are we living in feudal days. Consequently, if I bullied our local tradespeople as you bullied—”

“I never bullied my men,” Anthony denied indignantly. But it was no use. Mrs. Trevose swept on ruthlessly.

“As you bullied your delinquents, no one would serve us. And don’t look such a doubting Thomas, Anthony. It’s true. With the exception of their being two greengrocers, we’ve got one of each variety of shop. If I were to get into their bad books, where do you think I’d be? And for that matter, where would you be? I’ll tell you! You’d be driving me to Lostwithiel at least once a week because that would be the nearest place where I’d be served!”

Anthony lifted both arms in mock surrender and then, as Fenella came into the room, he dropped them.

“Come and defend me, Fen! Aunt Gina is being unkind to me!”

Fenella, neatly avoiding the arm he was about to put round her shoulders, smiled and shook her head.

“I’m quite sure you’re big enough and strong enough to defend yourself, Anthony,” she told him lightly.

Anthony, looking slightly puzzled, tried another tack.

“Well, come on up to the golf course,” he coaxed. “There won’t be time for a full round, but we might play nine holes. How about it?”

But once again Fenella shook her head.

“I’d love to, but I really am too busy,” she explained, and turned to Mrs. Trevose to discuss another slight hitch that had occurred.

With a shrug, Anthony, his hands deep in his pockets, wandered aimlessly out of the room.

Mrs. Trevose and Fenella were both careful to avoid each other’s eyes.

By four o’clock, most of the guests had arrived, the first having been Miss Prosser.

“Well, I must say, you’ve got nice a day for it,” she remarked accusingly, rather as if she felt that Mrs. Trevose had somehow contrived to influence Providence unfairly.

“Yes
_?
haven’t we?” Mrs. Trevose said serenely, having long since discovered that the best way to deal with Miss Prosser was to agree with her if that was in any way possible since, deprived of a chance to do battle, she was more than likely to find herself with nothing more to say. She did now, but turned her batteries on Fenella. “You’re looking a bit peaked, Miss Fenella. Finding the weather just a bit too much for you?”

“Just a bit,” Fenella admitted, smilingly following her aunt’s lead.

Miss Prosser turned to Anthony.

“You’re looking very pleased with yourself, Mr. Anthony,” she told him, her head on one side. “Almost as if you’re expecting something nice to happen ! ”

“It’s happened already!” Anthony declared, put an arm round her waist and kissed her soundly on first one withered cheek and then the other. “It’s not often my best girl comes to see me ! ”

“Really, Anthony!” Mrs. Trevose reproved him as Miss Prosser went off in a high state of giggles. “What will she think! ”

“I don’t care what she thinks,” Anthony retorted, with more than a hint of the schoolboy in his voice. “Serve her right, the horrid old toad! And if you don’t know why she’s come early, I do. She means to find a vantage point from which she can quiz everybody else as they come. Yes, there you are! Up on the terrace, looking like the Longships lighthouse with those gimlet eyes of hers sweeping over everybody! ”