As she had intended, the sharp concise words braced her companion. She stood for an instant longer in an attitude of nervous panic; then suddenly she threw up her head with a touch of the boyish spirit that had marked her long ago.
"I—I am not a coward, Lady Frances!" she said.
Side by side they waited, while the big yellow coach, piloted by George Tuffnell, swung round the bend of the drive. And as Clodagh stood there, watching the great vehicle sweep round to the hall door, her face became pale and her fingers closed tightly round the handle of her riding crop. It was her world—her world in miniature—that swayed towards her, while she impotently waited its approach!
On the box, beside George Tuffnell, sat Mrs. Bathurst, radiant in summer garments; behind were Deerehurst, Serracauld, Gore, and a middle-aged man who was unknown to her. As her eyes passed from one face to another, Tuffnell drew the horses up with great dexterity; the servants sprang to the ground; and Lady Diana came hospitably forward from the recesses of the hall.
The first guest to descend from the coach was Serracauld. Reaching the ground, he paused for a second to brush some dust from his light flannel suit; then he came forward to his hostess.
"How d'you do, Lady Diana!—and Lady Frances!"
He shook hands with both; then he turned to Clodagh with rather more impressiveness.
"How tremendously fit you look!" he said.
Before she could answer, Deerehurst joined them, calmly taking her hand as though it were his right.
"Well,—Circe!" he said below his breath. "We have followed!"