The First Snowdrop

There had been the afternoon before, for example, when Claude had a

"A

"Not at all, Jack," she had said in the quiet voice that had come to intrigue him. And he was gratified to note that she had blushed.

He had given her time to get used to his presence, walking silently at her side and looking up into the treetops. "Are you happy to be here?" he had asked. "The grounds are quite splendid, are they not? I imagine it is quite a welcome change for you to be here after living at Redlands for so long. A drab old place, as I remember."

"Oh," she had said, turning to him an animated face, "it is no longer so. I have had an ornamental garden created before the house. It stretches for fully half a mile. It looks lovely even at this time of year with box hedges and lawns and graveled walks and a fountain in the middle of it all. But soon it will be quite glorious. I can hardly wait to get back home so that I might not miss the flowers begi

"Indeed?" he had said quietly, looking steadily at her. "I might have known, A

A

"I should like to see what you have done to the old place," he had said. "May I visit you there, A

Her lips had parted as she looked earnestly at him. Jack had been reaching out to take the book from her hand so that he might draw her arm through his when Alex had appeared from nowhere. He had apparently come through the trees almost abreast of them, and had fallen into step the other side of A

What Jack wanted was some outside interest. There had to be some attractive and unattached females within a radius of five miles of Portland House. It was Peregrine who thought of the vicar's brood, with whom they had all played as children. They must all be grown up by now. Surely if one rode into the village and paid a call at the vicarage, one might find two or three of them still at home. It would be a great relief to find some young people who were not constantly preoccupied with drama.

That same afternoon, then, saw Jack, Peregrine, Freddie, Prudence, and Hortense on their way to the village, the men on horseback, the girls in an open barouche. Claude had called a rehearsal for Alex and A

A

Only Freddie was apologetic. If he only had Alex's brains, he said, or even Jack's, he would be able to remember that he must not speak all his part at once, but must pause to allow other people to speak between his lines. He considered it quite provoking of Mr. Goldsmith to write a play where everyone spoke just a sentence or two and then had to pause to listen to others and remember when to start speaking again and what words to say. However, he was willing to concede that it might be all clear to him if only he had been blessed with Alex's brains.

Not only did A

Even the fact that Alexander had come to her room every night since his arrival and had made love to her each time, twice even the night before, failed to boost her confidence. Although he always stirred her to such passion and satisfied her utterly, she was not at all sure why he did so. He rarely said anything, though he always stayed for the whole night, and he was invariably grim and distant during the daytime. Did he merely wish to put the stamp of his possession on her, to remind her that she was totally subject to his will? There was never the faintest hint of love, or even of affection, in his behavior toward her.

But when she was acting, A

But today they were to practice the scene in which Marlow sees Kate dressed in her plain country clothes, mistakes her for the maid, and flirts with her to the point of an attempted seduction. She enjoyed playing along with his error, giggling and inviting his advances without in any way behaving improperly. She wondered what would happen when they reached the part in which Marlow stole a kiss from her.

But Merrick was wooden. He knew the lines for this scene. It was only halfway through the play and he had spent more time on this than on the later scenes. But he found it very difficult to throw himself into the part. Or maybe it was the other way around. He found it too easy to identify with Marlow, poor fool. Merrick had never understood how Marlow could have married Kate willlingly at the end of the play, when he had appeared an utter fool so many times in her presence. How could he have ever recovered enough self-esteem to be easy in her presence, to assert himself as her husband?

Not that he had ever before taken the play very seriously. It was an amusing piece with a very clever and intricate plot. But now, suddenly, it had taken on a very unpleasant reality for him. As if he had not appeared often enough at a disadvantage before A

Claude fumed and paced back and forth across the polished floor of the small ballroom in which they rehearsed. A