The kiss belied the words, covering also a certain embarrassment which Vera was not slow to perceive. Because of it she found strength to abstain from further argument. He had undoubtedly conceded a good deal.
"I'll be decent to anyone," she said, "so long as you are decent to me."
"Hear, hear!" said the squire. "Now dry your eyes and be sensible! Miss Moore will go for me like mad if she finds you crying again. If we don't pull together we shall have that girl running the whole show before we are much older, and neither of us will ever dare even to contradict the other in her presence again. We shouldn't like that, should we?"
She laughed a little in spite of her wan countenance. "Oh, no, Edward. We mustn't risk that." Then, with a touch of anxiety, "It wasn't Miss Moore's idea that you should bring me flowers, was it?"
"No." The squire grinned at her suddenly. "The worthy Columbus was responsible for that. I found him routing in the lily-bed after snails or some such delicacy. He was so infernally busy he made me feel ashamed. So I went down on my knees and joined him, gathered the lot,—nearly killed myself over it, but that's an unimportant detail. Now for your champagne! You'll feel a different woman when you've had it."
He departed, leaving his wife looking after him with an odd wistfulness in her eyes. She was seeing him in a new light which made her feel strangely uncertain of herself also. Was it possible that all these years of misunderstanding, which she had regarded as inevitable, might have been avoided after all?
A quick sigh rose to her lips as again she took his flowers and held them against her face.
CHAPTER VII
THE SPELL
A wonderful summer evening followed the sultry day. The sun sank gloriously behind High Shale, and a soft breeze blew in from the sea.