“Lady Jones has been kind enough to help us most generously with the bazaar for the new chancel,” explained Mr. Atterton.
“Came to us for the opening ceremony, and remained the night,” added the Mayor.
Mrs. Dixon’s prominent grey eyes glanced swiftly round the group, and returned to the face of her friend. It was all right then. But she might have known. You had only got to be rich enough. She went nearer, and slipped her hand through the blue and gold arm.
“How lovely to see you again. I was talking of you at luncheon.”
“Shall we go and have tea?” said Mr. Atterton.
So the whole group went into the house, Elizabeth and Andy being the last to cross the wide terrace before the open French windows; but just as they were about to enter, Elizabeth paused, and said to her companion in a careless voice—
“How hot and crowded it looks in there!”
Her face was turned towards the house, and rather away from Andy, so that he could not see the colour deepening in the creamy bloom of her cheeks, or how her golden eyes shone with changing lights, or how the tendrils of hair which the sun caught became pure gold to crown this golden girl; but his heart knew that she was giving the woman’s eternal invitation, and it was very hard—so hard, that his own face became aged and sharpened—to answer as he did—
“Oh, it’s a big room. I don’t suppose we shall feel the heat much.”
For a moment Elizabeth felt as if some one had struck her a sudden blow, because what lay under those words was the unspoken “No,” which is the most bitter thing the heart of a woman can ever hear. The spoken “No” can never bring quite such bitterness, because the woman who could force that would not feel so shamed by the refusal.