ife, doesn't any man or woman have
endless chances of being brave or a coward? And this is civilised
courage, not the fury of a bull at a red rag."

Piers Otway had ceased to nibble his blade of grass; his eyes were
fixed on Irene. When she had made a sudden end of speaking, when she
smiled her apology for the fervour forbidden in polite converse, he
still gazed at her, self-oblivious. Helen Borisoff watched him, askance.

"Let us go in and have some tea," she said, rising abruptly.

Soon after, March said good-bye, a definite good-bye; he was going to
another part of England. With all the grace of his caste he withdrew
from a circle, in which, temptations notwithstanding, he had not felt
quite at ease. Riding down the dale through a sunny shower, he was
refreshed and himself again.

"Where do you put up to-night?" asked Helen of Otway, turning to him,
when the other man had gone, with a brusque familiarity.

"At the inn down in Redmire."

"And what do you do to-morrow?"

"Go to see the falls at Aysgarth, for one thing. There's been rain up
on the hills; the river will be grand."

"Perhaps we shall be there."

When Piers had left them, Helen said to her friend

"I wanted to ask him to stay and dine--but I didn't know whether you
would like it."

"I? I am not the hostess."

"No, but you have humours, Irene. One has to be careful."

Irene knitted her brows, and stood for a moment with face half averted.

"If I cause this sort of embarrassment," she said frankly, "I think I
oughtn't to stay."

"It's easily put right, my dear girl. Answer me a simple question. If I
lead Mr. Otway to suppose that his company for a few days is not
disagreeable to us, shall I worry you, or not?"

"Not in the least," was the equally direct answer.

"That's better. We've always got along so well, you know, that it's
annoying to feel there's something not quits understood between us.
Then I shall send a note down to the inn where he's staying, to appoint
a meeting at Aysgarth to-morrow. And I shall ask him to come here for
the rest of the day, if he chooses."

At nightfall, the rain-clouds spread from the hills of Westmorland, and
there were some hours of downpour. This did not look hopeful for the
morrow, but, on the other hand, it promised a finer sight at the falls,
if by chance the weather grew tolerable. The sun rose amid dropping
vapours, and at breakfast-time had not yet conquered the day, but a
steady brightening so