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He turned away, and Ann went back to rejoin Mrs. Ford and Rhoda.

She tried to excuse herself from dining with them, but they refused to listen to her. Well, what did it matter? she asked herself. She must learn to meet Rodney without feeling any emotion of any kind. Why not begin tonight? Perhaps he wouldn’t accept Stephanie’s invitation.

But he did. She heard him talking to James Ford in the billiard-room across the hall, as she came downstairs to dinner. And later, when they all went into the dining-room, she managed to give him a little nod and a friendly smile. He was not in evening dress, and neither was Ford. Very few men in Wairiri ever bothered to do more than change into a lounge suit for dinner, though their womenkind almost invariably “dressed.” But he looked smarter and better groomed than she had ever seen him before. Evidently the trip to Hawkeston had not been without results. And he was handsomer than ever. His face had gained some touch of sternness she had never noticed before. If he were shy—and she believed that he was—he was not awkward. Neither Mrs. Ford nor Rhoda would be able to find fault with his manner. Ford himself—like most men—was not so critical; while Stephanie was quite obviously not in the least likely to find any fault with her guest. After dinner she turned on the gramophone, and she and Rodney adjourned to the dimly lighted veranda, while Ford sat smoking in the billiard-room for a few minutes before beginning a rubber of bridge, and Ann struggled to keep her