Elizabeth, indeed, who was all eagerness to serve him, found herself rebuffed at every turn.
Nor were matters any better with Pamela, who had cried off her hospital work in order to pack for Desmond.

Elizabeth, seeing her come downstairs with an armful of khaki shirts to be marked, offered assistance--almost timidly.

But Pamela's 'Thank you, but I'd rather not trouble you--I can do it quite well'-- was so frosty that Elizabeth could only retire--bewildered--to the library, where she and the Squire gave a morning's work to the catalogue, and never said a word of farm or timber.
But the Squire worked irritably, finding fault with a number of small matters, and often wandering away into the house to see what Desmond was doing.

During these intervals Elizabeth would sit, pen in hand, staring absently into the dripping garden and the park beaten by a cold rain.

The future began to seem to her big with events and perplexity.
Then with the evening came the boy's leave-taking; full of affection towards his father and sister, and markedly chilly in the case of Elizabeth.