t think so."

"Dindie has persuaded me to stay on for the music. Shall we take a
little walk in the garden? I am so unaccustomed to crowds that I am
longing for air."

She paused, then added:

"And a little quiet."

"Certainly," he said stiffly.

"Does he hate me?" she thought, with a sinking of despair. He went to
fetch her wrap. They met in the hall.

"Where are you two going?"

Dindie Ackroyde's all-seeing eyes had perceived them.

"Only to get a breath of air in the garden," said Lady Sellingworth.

"How sensible!"

She gave them a watchful smile and spoke to Eve Colton, who was hunting
for the right kind of bridge, stick in hand.

"I'll find Melville for you. Jennie and Sir Arthur are waiting in the
card-room."

"I hope you don't mind coming out for a moment?"

Lady Sellingworth's unconquerable diffidence was persecuting her. She
spoke almost with timidity to Craven on the doorstep.

"Oh, no. I am delighted."

His young voice was carefully frigid.

"More motors!" she said. "The whole of London will be here by tea time."

"Great fun, isn't it? Such a squash of interesting people."

"And I am taking you away from them!"

"That's all right!"

"Oh, what an Eton's boy's voice!" she thought.

But she loved it. That was the truth. His youngness was so apparent
in his coldness that he was more dangerous than ever to her who had an
unconquerable passion for youth.

"Let us go through this door in the wall. It must lead to the gardens."

"Certainly!"

He pushed it open. They passed through and were away from the motors,
standing on a broad terrace which turned at right angles and skirted the
back of the house.

"Don't let us go round the corner before all the drawing-room windows."

"No?" he said.

"Unless you prefer--"

"I will go wherever you like."

"I thought--what about this path?"

"Shall we do down it?"

"I think it looks rather tempting."

They walked slowly on, descending a slight incline, and came to a second
long terrace on a lower level. There was a good deal of brick-work in
Mrs. Ackroyde's garden, but there were some fine trees, and in summer
the roses were wonderful. Now there were not many flowers, but at least
there were calm and silence, and the breath of the winter woods came to
Lady Sellingworth and Craven.

Craven said nothing, and walked stiffly beside his companion looking
straight ahead. He seemed entirely unlike the man who had talked so
enthusiastically