On the stroll to Granby, two miles distant, Elizabeth was left to walk behind with the Prossers. She found them good company. Mrs. Prosser, a plain but sensible woman in her middle thirties by Elizabeth's estimation, did not say much, but her husband conversed easily, not suggesting any condescension to the inferior status of his companion. He made her feel a social equal, in fact, as he talked about the welcome they had received from several families in the neighborhood. He talked about his life in the diplomatic service, about a year he had spent on government business in Lisbon.

All the while Elizabeth watched the couple walking ahead of them, arm in arm, talking and laughing together. Hetherington was obviously turning the full force of his charm on this new victim, she decided bitterly. She had once considered that charm to be natural and unforced. Elizabeth felt an actual pain in the region of her throat as she saw the fair head bend closer to Cecily's to listen to something she was saying. As he had once done with her.

When the group reached Granby, Cecily immediately led the way to a haberdasher's and turned eagerly to Mrs. Prosser, so that the five people came together.

"Mrs. Leigh has a fine selection of ribbons," Cecily said. "Shall we see if she has what you need?"

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Prosser answered. "And do come with me, Henry. You always say I do not have a fine eye for color."

Elizabeth made to follow the trio into the shop but was forestalled.

"I am quite sure you do not need four people to help you choose one length of ribbon, Bertha," Hetherington said. "Miss Rossiter and I will entertain each other by taking a turn down the street. Ma'am?"

He was holding out an arm to her. Blue eyes that she had never seen so steely were boring into hers. The other three members of the group disappeared inside the shop. Elizabeth ignored the proffered arm. She could not bring herself to touch him. But she did turn away from the doorway and begin to move along the street.