During the next two days Grizel was haunted by a prevision of danger. She rose with it in the morning, carried it in her heart all day, was pursued by it in her dreams. On the surface all seemed smooth and placid,—a pretty house, a charming garden, a party of friends enjoying the summer weather. There were games, there was laughter, there was a flow of words, but beneath it all, her sensitive nature sensed the rumbling of a storm.
The third morning the sun blazed from a cloudless sky, but within and without the air was still and lifeless, and the members of the house party, gathered round the breakfast table, showed signs of an unrefreshing night in pale and listless faces. Conversation flagged, and Grizel sounded a frank note of warning:
“I’m in a vile temper. Be careful, all of you. If anyone annoys me, I’ll snap. Nothing seems right this morning. Martin, the shape of your head gets on my nerves! I can’t think why I married you.”
“Neither can I, darling. Have some cream!” Martin carried the jug round the table, and tried to pour cream over a plate of strawberries, but Grizel pushed him aside.
“Don’t fuss! If I want cream, I can ask for it. Some people have no tact. Why wasn’t breakfast set in the garden? Nobody thinks of anything in this house, unless I see after it myself... Let’s have a picnic lunch!”
Martin looked at the Squire, the Squire looked at Martin. Their plans were made for a long day’s golf, and each felt a pang of anticipatory regret; moreover, each hated picnics, with a true man’s hatred. Grizel’s quick eyes caught the glance, and had no difficulty in understanding its meaning. It seemed indeed that she was thankful of an opportunity to snap.
“Pray, don’t trouble yourselves. We don’t want anyone to come on sufferance. Captain Peignton will look after Teresa, and Cassandra and I are perfectly happy alone. Go off on your horrid old golf. We don’t want you!”
“I apologise for my wife, Raynor. She is usually quite polite to her visitors. Just a little atmospheric disturbance. Take no notice. She’ll be sorry by and by.”
Grizel looked across the table, and made two separate and deliberate grimaces, one at the Squire, the other at her husband.
“That’s nothing to what I can do, if I choose! Better be careful! Captain Peignton, do you want to come? You’re engaged, of course, and engaged men used to wish to be with their fiancées, but that’s all changed since they began to play golf. I’m a bride of six months, and my husband vowed before hundreds of witnesses to cherish me all his life, and you see how he scowls if I ask him to spare me an hour! Teresa, be warned by me, and break it off unless he gives up golf. I hate and detest golf. Golf has ruined my life. We’ll look after you, Teresa dear, don’t worry! We’ll have chicken and mayonnaise, and fruit and lemonade, and Cassandra and I will dry your tears.”