Jack was shorter and inclined to be fat like his father; and like him too, had plenty to say for himself. They both gave the impression of enjoying life.

It was Jack Grindle who was responsible for the introduction of Gaston Marchmont into our circle.

Gaston Marchmont made a great stir and both Tamarisk and Rachel were constantly talking of him. He was tall, slender willowy almost and very good-looking in, as Tamarisk said, a worldly way. His hair was dark, almost black, and his eyes dark brown. He was elegant in the extreme.

Jack had met him on the Continent; they had travelled across the Channel together and, because Gaston Marchmont was going to put up at an hotel for a little while, Jack suggested that he come and stay at Grindle’s Farm for a few days.

Jack seemed to think it was a great condescension on Gaston’s part to do this. Not that Gaston implied it. Far from it. He was all gracious charm. But I could see why the Grindles who were humble folk, though quite affluent and prosperous allowed themselves to think such a grand personage as Gaston Marchmont was doing them an honour by staying with them.

Jack lost no time in introducing this fascinating gentleman into local society. We learned that Gaston’s mother had been French hence the name Gaston. He had been settling his affairs in France and was now concerned with the estate he had inherited through his father in Scotland, for his father had died recently.

His mode of dress revealed good taste and natural elegance. His suits were cut according to Savile Row, Tamarisk told me, and in his riding gear he looked godlike; he was charm personified. Mrs. St. Aubyn immediately became very fond of him. She flirted gaily with him and he responded gallantly. He was constantly saying that he would have to go to Scotland, but everyone including Jack Grindle was urging him to stay a little longer.

“You tempt me,” he said, ‘and I am so weak. “

Tamarisk said he must stay on for the ball, or she would never forgive him.

“My dear young lady,” he replied, “I cannot refuse the appeal of those beautiful eyes. Just till the ball, then.”

She and Rachel went on talking continuously about Gaston. I did not.

I was a little piqued, I think, because, though he did not exactly ignore me, few of his compliments came my way. He did include me when he talked of us as The Three Graces, but that was just politeness; and I noticed that his eyes were rarely on me and that Tamarisk and Rachel received most of his smiles.

He was, of course, an extremely attractive man. Crispin seemed dour beside him and the Grindle young men country bumpkins. That was unfair. The Grindle young men were very pleasant indeed and I thought the gentle, kindly smile of Daniel was more agreeable than the charm , of Gaston Marchmont.

Mary Tucker worked on our dresses in the St. Aubyn’s sewing-room and one day, when we went for a fitting, and they were as usual talking about Gaston Marchmont, I said: “I don’t think he means half what he says.”

“He does mean some of it,” retorted Tamarisk.

“You’re only jealous because he doesn’t take much notice of you.”

I pondered that. Was I?

Rachel was the first of us to have a real admirer. It was Daniel Grindle. Rachel was very pretty in a rather helpless, feminine way, and Daniel was the sort of man, I decided, who would want to protect people.

I noticed the dreamy look in Daniel’s eyes when he watched Rachel. So did Tamarisk. She could not understand why any young man could look at someone else when she was there. It was a tender look. I had seen him look like that on one occasion when I went to the farm and he was holding a new-born lamb in his arms.

“Well!” said Tamarisk.

“He’s only a farmer.”

“There is nothing wrong with that,” Rachel defended him fiercely.

“And he’s a good one. Aunt Hilda is very pleased that she married his father.”

“Do you like him?” Tamarisk demanded of her.

“He’s all right,” said Rachel.

“Would you marry him?”

“What a question!” cried Rachel.

“You would! You would! Well, he might be all right for you.”

Rachel did not answer. She was too embarrassed.

I guessed Tamarisk was comparing Daniel with Gaston Marchmont.

She went on to talk about him. She was so glad he was staying for the ball.

“I told him I’d never forgive him if he didn’t stay, and he said, ” You leave me no alternative. ” Wasn’t that nice?”

“He does say the nicest things,” admitted Rachel.

“He’s a wonderful rider,” went on Tamarisk.

“On a horse he looks absolutely part of it … like one of those old gods.”

“He looks like a cross between a highwayman and a cavalier,” I said.

“I could just imagine him saying, ” Stand in and deliver! ” or riding into battle against Cromwell.”

“I always hated Cromwell,” said Tamarisk.

“Horrid old spoilsport. Closing theatres and things . I hate spoilsports. “

“I don’t think you could call Gaston Marchmont one of those by any stretch of the imagination,” I said.

“I should think not!” said Tamarisk, smiling secretly.

She went on talking of him. He was an aristocrat, there was no doubt of that.

Rachel smiled dreamily, and I said: “Since he’s so wonderful, I wonder he bothers to stay here.”

“Perhaps,” said Tamarisk mysteriously, ‘he has his reasons. “

It was only a few days before the ball. Our dresses were made.

Tamarisk told me that plants would be brought in from the greenhouses to decorate the ballroom and there would be a supper laid out in the dining-room- a buffet from which guests could help themselves. An orchestra had been engaged. Her mother was taking a little walk in the gardens every day so that she would be strong enough to attend the ball. She had had a special dress made for the occasion; the invitations had all gone out. It was the first time there had been a ball since Crispin’s wife had died.

“Everything will be different now,” Tamarisk declared.

“I’m of age.

Even Crispin will have to realize that. “

I went to see Flora. I sat in the garden near the mulberry bush and talked to her about the ball. I did not think she followed what I was talking about but she liked to hear my voice. Every now and then she would break in with a comment such as, “He was a bit restless last night. I think that tooth is troubling him.” But it made no difference. I just went on talking and she sat there smiling and seemed really pleased that I was there.

When I left her I met Crispin. I think he was on his way to call at the cottage as I knew he did from time to time, for if there was anything wrong it was always attended to with the utmost promptness.

I cherished the memory of how concerned he had been when Flora broke the doll. I liked to think he cared so much for his old nannies.

“Hello,” he said.

“I can guess where you’ve been.”

“She seems to like me to go.”

“When Miss Lucy is not there?”

I flushed a little.

“Well,” I repeated, defending myself, “Flora seems to like me to go.”

“Does she confide in you at all?”

“Confide? No, not really.”

“You mean she does in a way?”

“Well, she talks most of the time about the doll as though it’s a real baby.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You don’t seem sure.”

“Well, she does say odd things at times.”

“What sort of things?”

“I think perhaps about the mulberry bush. She keeps saying something isn’t there.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Yes. She keeps looking at it. I’d say she was a little worried about something there.”

“I see. Well, it is good of you to call on her, being pre occupied as they all seem to be about the ball.”

“Everyone is looking forward to it.”

“Including you?”

I nodded.

“I think it will be fun.”

“And I hear the dashing hero has promised to attend.”

“You mean … ?”

“You know whom I mean. Is that going to make it especially agreeable for you?”

“I think people are pleased that he is coming.”

“People? Does that include you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I see. Well, I must not keep you.”

He smiled at me, lifted his hat and bowed slightly.

Then he went on to call on the Lanes.

It was the day before the ball. I went over to the Bell House to see Rachel.

She looked different. There was a certain radiance about her. I thought she was about to confide in me, but she appeared to hesitate.

I was reminded of that other occasion when she had been so scared and had turned to me. She was very different from Tamarisk; she was withdrawn, diffident, keeping her secrets.

I had another look at her dress. I had looked at my own fifty times.

“You’ll wear it away looking at it,” Lily had commented wryly.

“Take it from me, love. You’ll look a treat in it.”

I was apprehensive. Would anyone want to dance with me? We had practised our steps again and again and we were quite proficient now; but what worried me was partners. Tamarisk would have plenty, not only because of her charm and good looks, but because the ball was taking place in her home and her mother was the hostess, in spite of all that Aunt Sophie had done to make it possible; people would feel it a duty to dance with Tamarisk. And Rachel would be all right. That helpless fragility had its appeal. But myself ? Perhaps Jack Grindle would ask me, or Daniel. Crispin? I could not imagine what his dancing would be like.