he said, without moving.

She laid her mending upon the grass and rose. "I am busy--as you see,"
she returned.

He looked at her for a moment, then very deliberately followed her
example. He stood looking down at her from his great height, a
speculative smile on his face.

"You've soon had enough of me, what?" he suggested.

Olga's pale eyes gleamed for an instant like steel suddenly bared to the
sun. She said nothing whatever, merely stood before him very stiff and
straight, plainly waiting for him to go.

"It's a pity to outstay one's welcome," he said. "I wouldn't do that for
the world. But what about that kiss you offered me just now?"

"I?" said Olga, quivering disdain in the word.

"You, my little spitfire!" he said genially. "And it won't be the first
time, what? Come now! You're always running away, but you should reflect
that you're bound to be caught sooner or later. You didn't think I was
going to let you off, did you?"

She stood before him speechless, with clenched hands.

He drew a little nearer. "You pay your debts, don't you? And what more
suitable opportunity than the present? You are so elusive nowadays.
Why, I haven't seen you except from afar since last Christmas. You were
always such a nice, sociable little girl till then."

"Sociable!" whispered Olga.

"Well, you were!" He laughed again in his easy fashion. "Don't you
remember what fun we had at the Rectory on Christmas Eve, and how you
came to tea with me on the sly a few days after, and how we kissed under
the mistletoe, and how you promised--"

"I promised nothing!" burst out Olga, with flashing eyes.

"Oh, pardon me! You promised to kiss me again some day. Have you
forgotten? I hardly think your memory is as short as that."

He drew nearer still, and slipped a cajoling arm about her. "Why are we
in such a towering rage, I wonder? Surely you don't want to repudiate
your liabilities! You promised, you know."

She flung up a desperate face to his. "Very well, Major Hunt-Goring,"
she said breathlessly. "Take it--and go!"

He bent to her. "But you must give," he said.

"Very well," she said again. "It--it will be the last!"

"Will it?" he questioned, pausing. "In that case, I feel almost inclined
to postpone the pleasure, particularly as--"

"Don't torture me!" she said in a whisper half--choked.

Her eyes were tightly shut; but Hunt-Goring's were looking over her
head, and a sudden gleam of malicious humour shone in them. He