shut the door behind her, and saw Cecil pouting by the mantelpiece,
vexed at being forced into a reconciliation, even while she knew she
could not persist in sending all the family except Frank to
Coventry. He was thoroughly angry at the dogged way in which she
had received this free and generous peace-making, and he could not
but show it. "Well," he said, "I never saw an apology made with a
better grace nor received with a worse one."

Cecil made no reply. He stood for a minute looking at her with eyes
of wondering displeasure, then, with a little gesture of amazement,
left the room.

Cecil felt like the drowning woman when she gave the last scissor-
like gesture with her fingers. She was ready to fall into a chair
and cry. A sense of desolateness was very strong on her, and that
look in his dark eyes had seemed to blast her.

But pride came to her aid. Grindstone was moving about ready to
dress her for dinner. No one should see that she was wounded, or
that she took home displeasure which she did not merit. So she held
up her head, and was chilling and dignified all dinner-time; after
which she repaired to Lady Tyrrell's conversazione.




CHAPTER XIX
The Monstrous Regiment of Women