However it can't be helped.'
She rustled out of the room, closing the door behind her.
I felt I had forfeited her sympathy by my refusal to go down.
I had shown the white feather.
She had not understood.
She belonged to another breed of men and women, another race than I.
They had guts, the women of her race.
They were not like me.
If it had been Beatrice who had done this thing instead of me she would have put on her other dress and gone down again to welcome her guests.
She would have stood by Giles's side, and shaken hands with people, a smile on her face.
I could not do that.
I had not the pride, I had not the guts.
I was badly bred. I kept seeing Maxim's eyes blazing in his white face, and behind him Giles, and Beatrice and Frank standing like dummies, staring at me.
I got up from my bed and went and looked out of the window.
The gardeners were going round to the lights in the rose-garden, testing them to see if they all worked.
The sky was pale, with a few salmon clouds of evening streaking to the west.
When it was dusk the lamps would all be lit.
There were tables and chairs in the rose-garden, for the couples who wanted to sit out.
I could smell the roses from my window.
The men were talking to one another and laughing.
"There's one here gone,' I heard a voice call out; 'can you get me another small bulb?
One of the blue ones, Bill.'
He fixed the light into position. He whistled a popular tune of the moment with easy confidence, and I thought how tonight perhaps the band would play the same tune in the minstrels' gallery above the hall.
'That's got it,' said the man, switching the light on and off, 'they're all right here.
No others gone.
We'd better have a look at those on the terrace.'
They went off round the corner of the house, still whistling the song.
I wished I could be the man.
Later in the evening he would stand with his friend in the drive and watch the cars drive up to the house, his hands in his pockets, his cap on the back of his head.
He would stand in a crowd with other people from the estate, and then drink cider at the long table arranged for them in one corner of the terrace.
'Like the old days, isn't it?' he would say. But his friend would shake his head, puffing at his pipe.
'This new one's not like our Mrs de Winter, she's different altogether.'
And a woman next them in the crowd would agree, other people too, all saying
"That's right,' and nodding their heads.
'Where is she tonight?
She's not been on the terrace once.'
'I can't say, I'm sure.
I've not seen her.'
'Mrs de Winter used to be here, there, and everywhere.'
'Aye, that's right.'
And the woman would turn to her neighbours nodding mysteriously.
"They say she's not appearing tonight at all.'
'Go on.'
"That's right.
One of the servants from the house told me Mrs de Winter hasn't come down from her room all evening.'
'What's wrong with the maid, is she bad?'
'No, sulky I reckon.
They say her dress didn't please her.'
A squeal of laughter and a murmur from the little crowd.
'Did you ever hear of such a thing?