Teresa felt a pang of jealousy, not of Dane Peignton,—these women were married and could have no interest for him,—but for herself, and her position in the Raynor household. Proud as she had been of the degree of intimacy to which she had been admitted, in her heart she had acknowledged the presence of a barrier shutting her out from personal friendship. She had been a favoured acquaintance, nothing more, and now a friend had appeared, and the acquaintance must needs stand aside.
Up the church aisle came the two women, side by side, graver now as befitted their surroundings, yet bringing with them a whiff of the world of gaiety and fashion, the influence of which spread subtly over the feminine body of workers. The Vicar’s wife pulled down her cuffs, and brushed the leaves from her gown; the doctor’s daughters arranged stray locks, and placed themselves in artistic attitudes around the desk, and from the background poor Miss Bruce looked on with widened eyes.
Cassandra came forward to shake hands with Mrs Evans, the natural hostess of the occasion.
“Good morning, Mrs Evans. How busy you all are! I drove down with the flowers, and brought Mrs Beverley with me. The groom is bringing them in. We promised Miss Mallison—”
She looked around, caught sight of Teresa and Peignton standing side by side, and nodded, faintly smiling. The affair was progressing then! No need for outside help. Teresa, flushed and happy, the blue of her blouse setting off the pink and white of her complexion, looked her most attractive self. Cassandra envied her, pitied her, felt an inexplicable irritation with her, all at the same moment, but being bred in the school which considers the suppression of feeling to be the first axiom of good manners, her smile of greeting remained unchanged.
The vases for the altar had been carried into a vestry, where they stood on a table ready to be filled. The groom was directed where to carry his hamper, and the two visitors followed, talking in undertones to Teresa and Dane as they went. Inside the room itself there was a greater sense of freedom, and their voices instantly heightened in tone. They had an air of having nothing to do, and of being indifferent as to how long they stayed, which was far from welcome to one at least of the workers.
Teresa had planned exactly how the vases were to be arranged, and had anticipated a happy half-hour, alone with Dane, free from the observation of curious eyes. She was capable of carrying out her own ideas, and wished for no assistance. It was Peignton who made the unwelcome suggestion that Cassandra should remain to help.
“I’m out of this!” he said, shrugging. “Never arranged flowers in my life, and don’t know how to begin. Dragging about palms is more in my line, but that’s done now, and I’m no more use. Sorry to be such a broken reed, Miss Teresa! Perhaps Lady Cassandra—” He looked at Cassandra, and once again his eyes lightened, as if what they beheld was good in his sight. “I am sure you know how to arrange flowers!”
“Oh, yes,” Cassandra said calmly, “I’m supposed to be quite good. Well, Teresa, I am at your service. You are in command. Issue your instructions! Mrs Beverley, you won’t mind waiting a short time?”
“Oh, no,” Grizel said sweetly. “I’ll help too!” She made no motion to take off her gloves, however, but stood watching with a lazy smile while her companion threw off her furs in business-like fashion. The square emerald sparkled against the whiteness of her hand, as she turned over flowers, searching for the most perfect specimens. Once more Dane watched it with fascinated attention, once more looked from it to Teresa’s hands, reddened and stained with soil, and hastily averted his eyes. Henceforth he kept them averted. There was no disloyalty in admiring a beautiful thing. The wrong began when one stooped to invidious comparisons.