"You saw me?" Nan's eyebrows went up; she was furiously conscious that she blushed.
"I passed you in a motor," he explained.
"Oh!" She withdrew her hand, and turned to the fire with a little laugh, raging inwardly at the fate that had betrayed her.
Standing by the hearth, she pulled off her gloves, and spread her hands to the blaze. It was a mere pretence, for she was hot all over by that time, hot and quivering and fiercely resentful. There was another feeling also behind her resentment, a feeling which she would not own, that made her heart thump oddly, as it had thumped only once before in her life—when this man had touched her face with his lips.
"Well," she said, standing up after a few minutes, "I must go and dress, and so must you, dad. We are going to the Hunt Ball to-night," she added, with a brief glance in her husband's direction.
He made no reply of any sort. His eyes were fixed upon her left hand. After a moment she became aware of this, and slipped it carelessly into her pocket. Whistling softly, she turned to go.
At the foot of the stairs she heard her father's voice, and paused.
"You had better come, too," he was saying to his son-in-law.
Nan wheeled sharply, almost as if she would protest, but she checked her words unspoken.
Quietly Piet Cradock was making reply: