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Nicholas grumbled, "She's had plenty of time to think."

To Anne's relief Iris made no reply; and for the first time since the Cheynells' arrival, silence fell upon the terrace, as neither group was talking now. The fog that had made visible the chills of night had thrust a gauzy finger between them. Anne peered through it, trying to see the faces of the other two, for she wondered how much they had heard of the conversation; but she could see nothing clearly. Lesley was crouched forward, her long hands dangling between her knees, as she gazed down into the valley where the farmhouse lights looked like magnified reflections of the stars. Mrs. Gailey was only a gleaming cigarette end in the shadow of the house.

11

Rosamund had smoked many more cigarettes before she saw Waters Farm the next morning. Her employer, though she didn't seem to smoke much herself, fortunately kept a large supply. It looked as if she would be able to save even more of her salary than she had hoped.

She no longer expected, however, that salary to pile up into a large sum. She had not been twelve hours at Doleham, but already she was feeling she had been there long enough. When the company dispersed at what seemed to her a depressingly early hour, she sat for some minutes in her bedroom, bored and wakeful; then decided in wrath to write to Sylvia Dunning. Sylvia should not have cracked up the place like this—even Sylvia should stick closer to real life than to say that the job was right up her street, that she would enjoy the comfort of a full staff of servants, that Lesley Bullen was clever and Mrs. Winrow charming.