t when later on the Major proposed a game of
patience, she accepted at once, and viewed with equanimity the sight of
the two young people strolling down the garden path. It would be the
last night when such an escape would be possible!

It was an exquisite moonlight night, clear enough to show the colour of
the flowers in the beds and borders. Claire's white dress took on a
ghostly hue against the deep background of the trees, her cheeks were
pale, too, and the long line of eyelash showed dark against her cheeks.
She felt very happy, very content, just the least little bit in the
world, afraid! Captain Fanshawe was smoking a cigarette, and in the
intervals drawing deep sighs of enjoyment.

"There's only one thing that worries me--why didn't I come back last
week? To think of rain, and mist, and smoky fires, and then--This! I
feel like a man who has been transported into fairyland!"

Claire felt as if she also was in fairyland, but she did not say so.
There are things that a girl does not say. They paced up and down the
winding paths, and came to the flight of steps leading to the pergola,
"The Flowery Way" as Mrs Fanshawe loved to call it, where the arenaria
calearica shone starry white in the moonlight. Erskine stopped short,
and said urgently--

"Would you mind walking on alone for a few yards? I'll stand here ...
while you go up the steps. Please!"

Claire stared in surprise, but there seemed no reason to deny so simple
a request.

"And what am I to do when I get there?"

"Just stand still for a moment, and then walk on... I'll come after!"

Claire laughed, shrugged, and went slowly forward along the flagged
path, up the flower-sprinkled stair, to pause beneath an arch of pink
roses and look back with an inquiring smile. Erskine was standing where
she had left him, but he did not smile in response, while one might have
counted twenty, he remained motionless, his look grave and intent, then
he came quickly forward, leapt up the shallow steps and stood by her
side.

"Thank you!" he said tersely, but that was all. Neither then or later
came any explanation of the strange request.

For a few moments there was silence, then Erskine harked back to his
former subject.

"Scottish scenery is very fine, but for restful loveliness, Surrey is
hard to beat. You haven't told me yet how you like our little place,
Miss Gifford! It's on a very modest scale, but I'm fond of it. There's
a homey feeling abou