The few words that Lucas had spoken with her hand in his still echoed through her memory.

Yes, she knew where to look for friends; no carping critics, but genuine, kindly friends who knew and sympathised.
She thought of Nap with regret and a tinge of anxiety.

She was sure he had not intended to let her go without farewell, but she hoped earnestly that he would not pursue her to the Manor to tell her so.
And then she remembered his letter; that letter that her husband must have intercepted, recalling his storm of unreasonable fury on the occasion of her last return from Baronmead.

He had doubtless read that letter and been inflamed by it.

Hating her himself, he yet was fiercely jealous of her friends--these new friends of hers who had lavished upon her every kindness in her time of need, to whom she must always feel warmly grateful, however churlishly he might ignore the obligation.
He had raised no definite objection to this present visit of hers.