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Mr. Mainwaring insisted on taking Elizabeth home himself in the phaeton the next morning. She had had an early breakfast and had tried to insist that she would enjoy the walk across the fields, but he would not hear of her doing so. One thing she was thankful for. She did not see Hetherington. He had gone out riding with Mr. Prosser.

The sun was actually breaking through the clouds when they left the house.

"Ah, I do hope the rainy spell is over," Elizabeth said. "It is so dreary to have to stay indoors for days on end."

"Yes," Mr. Mainwaring agreed. "I have certainly missed meeting my neighbors in the past week. Will you be avoiding me now, Miss Rossiter?"

"Avoiding you?" she asked in surprise. "Why should I do that, sir?"

He smiled wryly. "I made unwelcome advances to you last evening," he said. "I hope you will allow me to remain your friend."

"Indeed, yes," she replied earnestly. "I value your friendship more than I can say, sii. And I am truly sorry about the other. It is just that I-I cannot love. And I could not accept your attentions unless I were free to offer that."

"You do not need to explain," he said quietly. "I shall be here for you, Elizabeth, if you should ever need me. That is all. May I call you by your first name?"

"Yes," she said.

"And I should be honored if you would use mine," he added.

They traveled in silence for the rest of the short distance home. Elizabeth felt strangely comforted. This was how she would want to be loved, with a warmth and an unselfishness that demanded nothing in return. She did not believe that William Mainwaring would abandon her if circumstances changed as Robert Denning had done. If only she could love him! They could have a good life together. And she did not believe he would care even if the old scandalous story were to surface. He cared nothing for London. And town gossip did not reach easily into the countryside to harm one's peace.

She allowed herself to dream as Mr. Mainwaring guided the horses carefully through the mud, of living at Ferndale with him, helping him improve the estate, socializing with him in the neighborhood, bringing up his children. But images of Hetherington intruded. How could she even dream of life with another man when just thinking of him made her heart turn over? She could picture him now as he had looked the night before, sitting relaxed in the chair by the fire, his book resting on his raised leg. It had seemed such a domestic scene and she ached now, as she had ached then, to be a part of it. Instead, she had sat twenty feet away, as far removed from him in spirit as if she had been twenty miles away. Yet she loved him still. Not as she had before, when she had loved him as if he were a prince in a fairy-tale romance. He had been perfection itself. Now she loved him as a woman, with knowledge of all his faults and with full realization that they could never be together again. But she loved him. And for the first time since it had happened, she admitted to herself that she would not have altered any of those events even if she had known of the separation and pain ahead. At least she had known love and at least there was one man in this world who meant everything to her. No, she must never allow her resolve to weaken as far as William Mainwaring was concerned. She could never make him happy. She had nothing of her real self to offer him.

"Here we are," Mr. Mainwaring said cheerfully, "and I did not once upset you into the hedge."

"What a dull and unadventurous life this is sometimes," she replied, matching his tone and allowing him to grasp her by the waist and lift her across to dry ground.

He paid a brief courtesy call in the house before driving | away again. But he left with Mrs. Rowe an invitation to dinner and an evening of charades the following week.

Mrs. Rowe turned to Elizabeth in some excitement after he had left. "How splendid for you, my dear Miss Rossiter," she said. "I was just saying to Mr. Rowe yesterday that I should not have allowed you to venture out into that dreadful weather and that you must have got caught in the rain somewhere and caught your death of j cold when Mr. Mainwaring's messenger came galloping up to the door. I was never so gratified in my life. Did you join the company for the evening?"

Elizabeth smiled calmly and gave a brief account of the card games they had played.

"You have all the good fortune, Beth," Cecily sighed. "I knew I should have gone to town with you."

"In fact, Cecily, it was an embarrassment," she said soothingly. "I wore a gown of Miss Norris' that was too long and too low in the neck, and slippers of her sister's that I left behind if I did not concentrate on taking them with me as I shuffled along."]

"Oh, bless me," said Mrs. Rowe. "But really, my dear Miss Rossiter, I do believe that Mr. Mainwaring is developing a tendre for you. It was really uncommon civil of him to escort you home himself when he could easily have called out his carriage and sent you home."

"Oh, Beth," Cecily chimed in brightly, "do consider me for a bridesmaid. I have never been one, you see."

Elizabeth blushed, but noticed that the girl's eyes twinkled. "I believe you should look around for another bride to befriend," she said. "You may be an old maid rather than a bridesmaid if you wait for me."

"Well, indeed, I believe it would be a very eligible connection," Mrs. Rowe declared. "You must have Miss Phillips make up a new gown for you by next week, Miss Rossiter. And I shall get Rose to come to you and do your hair before we go to Ferndale."

Elizabeth laughed. "And I should be so uncomfortable that I should hide in a corner all night," she said.

The neighborhood perked up with the anticipation of new entertainment at Ferndale. It was just what they all needed after the dreadful weather of the previous week, Lady Worthing confided to Mrs. Rowe when she met the latter in Granby one morning when they had both ventured outside to make some purchases and to catch up on local news.

A couple of incidents conspired to prevent the entertainment, though. Mrs. Claridge and Anne arrived to visit Mrs. Rowe and Cecily just two days after the invitations had been issued. The former brought the news that the Prossers and Amelia Norris were planning to leave within the next few days. Mr. Prosser had told the vicar that his sister-in-law was fretting over the fact that she had already missed much of the summer season at Brighton. She wished to be one of the Prince Regent's social set at the Pavilion. She had persuaded her sister and brother-in-law to accompany her.

"I am sure we shall all be better-off here without that young woman," Mrs. Claridge said, "but I shall be very sorry to see the Prossers leave."

"Yes, they are a most genteel couple," Mrs. Rowe agreed.

"Oh, will Mr. Mainwaring cancel the evening of charades?" Cecily wailed. "How provoking that would be."

"I do not see why he would, my love," her mother comforted. "He could hardly withdraw invitations once they are given."

"I wonder why Miss Norris came here in the first place if she so wishes to be in Brighton," Mrs. Claridge said.

"We did hear that she was to be betrothed to the Marquess of Hetherington," Mrs. Rowe replied. "Perhaps they had a falling out."

"I am glad of it," Anne said impulsively. "He is far too handsome and amiable for her, do you not agree, Cecily?"

Elizabeth had been sewing quietly in the window seat. She had not participated at all in this conversation, had not divulged the contents of the argument she had overheard at the ball. She did speak now, though.

"Perhaps we should change the topic," she advised calmly. "The subjects of conversation are presently riding up to the house."