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lapsed into her private thoughts. Where was Jack? There had been no news, and the empty place which had been set for him seemed to shout his name out loud; but everyone very deliberately avoided all mention of him. It was as if he had never been there at all.
    Afterwards the ladies departed for the withdrawing room and their usual catty chatter, which invariably involved the tearing apart of someone’s character. Sarah paused outside, watching them settle down like vultures gathering around a corpse. Who would it be today, she wondered, and the question was answered almost immediately as she heard her name and Jack’s upon the eager lips. She sighed and walked away; this was one conversation in which she would not participate.
    The butler raised an eyebrow as he saw the graceful figure of the new lady of the house slipping out through the main door. He shook his head; the master should never have brought her here—never! He sniffed and closed the door behind her.
    The sun was shining brightly outside and all traces of the storm had vanished. Her shoes crunched over the gravel as she hurried along, and then she proceeded across the grass lawns toward the formal gardens. Tall hedges soon shielded her from sight and she went more slowly, walking happily in the warmth of the sun and admiring the beautiful precision of the flower beds and fountains. The gardens were at rest at the moment, but soon they would be full of color and life, and she hoped that she would see them.
    This thought surprised her, but then she would one day be mistress of all this. This was a notion which had not struck her before, and pondering it she sat down on a garden seat surrounded on three sides by a yew hedge. Mistress of Rook House. She glanced down and saw snowdrops growing in the shelter of the hedge. Bending down, she touched the delicate white flowers. Before her sloped the parklands, an ornamental lake with its swans, a cricket pitch, a huge structure of glass in which grew tropical plants, and away beyond that the dark outline of the woods where she had arranged to meet Ralph. She looked away from the bare trees and concentrated on the gardens instead. It was a tranquil moment, a blessed relief from the backbiting, vicious company in the house.
    She did not hear the sound of slow footsteps on the path, nor the murmur of male voices. It was the perfumed scent of pipe smoke which alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. She recognized her father’s voice and soon realized that he was with Paul Ransome. Should she slip away? But she knew that she would be seen if she left her seat, and her father would be cross, for she should be in the withdrawing room with the other ladies. She decided to remain where she was and hope that they would not observe her.
    “What happened to the two fine ash trees which used to be here, Sir Peter? I see only the stumps remain.” The footsteps halted as Paul Ransome stopped close by, just out of sight from Sarah’s niche.
    Stratford’s voice was disinterested. “Edward had them cut down.”
    “Why? I remember they were excellent trees.”
    Sir Peter put his foot on the stump and leaned forward. Sarah could see him vaguely through the yew. “Oh, some bee he’s got in his bonnet about them; he says they spoiled the view or something. I’ve quarrels enough with him as it is without making more by telling him he had no right to touch the trees, and so I let the matter rest. Still, now I come to look at the result of his zeal I’m inclined to anger. Those trees were excellent, and far from ruining the view they formed an integral part of it. However, it’s done now and cannot be undone.”
    There was a moment’s silence and then Paul laughed slightly, a peculiar sound, half forced and half embarrassed. “Had this happened in my part of the country then I could have well understood, for some say ash trees are unlucky, especially if planted near the house.”
    “Superstitious rubbish!”
    Paul