go into the corners. Will
you help me to move them?"

"Certainly not. I'll do it myself. Just point out where they are to
go. What's the good of me if I can't save you fatigue?"

The tenderness of his smile was as ointment of healing, but true to her
principles Teresa averted her eyes, and put on her most business-like
manner, so that no answering sign of tenderness might be visible. Not
to the verger himself had her manner been more cool and detached, but
Dane showed no sign of dissatisfaction. They had met to work, not to
make love; he admired the girl for her brisk, capable ways, and found
pleasure in the sight of her alert young figure clad in the short skirt,
stout boots, and untrimmed hat. They worked industriously for the next
half-hour, banking up comers of palms, covering the foremost pots with a
velvety cushion of moss. Side by side they knelt on the marble floor,
pulling apart the fragrant sods, patting them into shape. Once when a
rebellious morsel refused to remain in place Teresa fumbled among her
yellow locks for a hairpin to act as skewer, whereupon Dane made a quick
movement to withdraw her hand.

"No, no, it's covered with soil! ... Let me!" He covered his finger
and thumb with a handkerchief, carefully extracted the nearest pin, and
held it towards her. "That's better! It's too bad to soil your pretty
hair. You've got loads of hair, haven't you? I love to see a girl with
good hair. How far does it come down?"

"Past my waist." Teresa's conscience pricked her on account of one
braid which could come down as far as required, but there seemed no
immediate need for confession on that score. Her cheeks were flushed,
she took a long time over the last arrangement of moss, pondering
uneasily. Had anyone _seen_? What would they think? She hoped to
goodness that Miss Mason's eyes had been averted! What Miss Mason saw
at noon, was parish news by sunfall... "By the by, you'll be interested
to hear that Teresa Mallison is engaged to that young Peignton. I saw
him _distinctly_ stroking her hair." In imagination she could hear the
thin, clipped voice scattering the news broadcast. And in time it would
come to Dane's own ears...

Teresa rose and cast a searching glance round the church. No one was
looking, the workers were engrossed and preoccupied. The Vicar's wife
was affixing a cross of daffodils to the front of the pulpit, the
doctor's daughters were trimming the lectern with sti