"Don't you want to play?" they asked her in surprize.
"Why should we play?" she countered. "But I'll listen to you, if you like."
Of course she was persuaded into taking her part, and never had she been so often out of tune and never had her strings snapped so continuously. Always until to-night the performance of music had brought to her the peaceful irresponsibleness of being herself in a pattern: now this sense of design was irritating her with an arduous repression, until at last she put down her violin and refused to play any more. Pauline felt that the others knew the cause of her ill-temper, but none of them said anything about Guy and, with her for audience in one of the Caroline chairs, they played trios instead.
Next day when Guy did come, it was wet; and Pauline wished Margaret would leave them together, so that they could talk: but Margaret stayed all the afternoon in the nursery, and Pauline made up her mind that somehow she must go for another walk with Guy.
She found her mother alone in the drawing-room before dinner.
"Mother, don't you think, Guy and I might go for a walk to-morrow?"
"Oh, Pauline, you only went for a walk together the day before yesterday. And you really must remember you're not engaged. The Wychford people will gossip so, and that will make your father angry."
"Well, why can't we be engaged openly?"
"No, not yet. Now, please don't ask me. Pauline, I beg you will say no more about it."
"Then I can go to-morrow," said Pauline. "Oh, Mother, you are so sweet to me."