Hortons was soon haunted by "Tubby" Grenfell's presence.
"Peace Day" came and went, and Lois really felt that it was time that she "settled her life." Here was the summer before her; there were a number of places to which she might go and she could not make up her mind.
Firstly, she knew that some of the time must be spent with her mother in Wiltshire, and she was dreading this. Her mother never criticised her, never asked her questions, never made any demands, and Lois had rather enjoyed spending days of her "leave" in that silly old-fashioned company. But now? Could it be that Lois was two quite different people and that one half of her was jealous of the other half?
Moreover, there was now a complication about Scotland. "Tubby" had begged her to go to a certain house in Northumberland; nice people; people she knew enough to want to know them more. He begged her to go there during the very month that she had planned to go away with Margery. She knew quite well that if she tried to break the Scottish holiday that would be the end—Margery would leave her and never return. Well, was not that exactly what she had been desiring? Was she not feeling this animosity between "Tubby" and Margery a great nuisance? And yet—and yet—— She could not make up her mind to lose Margery; no, not yet. Her hatred of this individual (she had never been undecided in France; she had always known exactly what she intended to do) flung her, precipitately, into that final quarrel with Margery that, in reality, she wanted to avoid. It took place one morning in "the attic." It was a short and stormy scene. Lois began by suggesting that they should take their holiday during part of September instead of August, and that perhaps they would not go so far as Scotland.... What about the South Coast? Margery listened, the colour coming into her cheeks, her eyes filling with tears as they always did when she was excited.
"But we'd arranged——" she said in a kind of awe-struck whisper. "Months ago—we fixed——"
"I know, my dear," said Lois, with a carelessness that she by no means felt. "But what does it matter? September's as good as August, and I hate Scotland."
"You said you loved it before," said Margery slowly, staring as though she were a stranger who had brought dramatic news. "I believe," she went on, "it's because you want to stay with Mr. Grenfell."
"If you want to know," cried Lois, suddenly urged on partly by her irritation at being judged, but still more by her anger at herself for feeling Margery's distress, "it is. You're impossible, Margery. You're so selfish. It can't make any difference to you, putting our holiday off. You're selfish. That's what it is."
Then a remarkable thing occurred. Margery did not burst into tears. Only all the colour drained from her face and her eyes fell.