s standing quite still, her hand gripping the post, her eyes fixed
upon the waiting motor-car. The delicate softness had gone from
her face. Once more that look of partly veiled suffering was there,
suffering mingled with fear.

"Look!" she whispered, under her breath. "Look! It is Mr. Fentolin! He
has come for us himself; he is there in the car."

Mr. Fentolin, a strange little figure lying back among the cushions of
the great Daimler, raised his hat and waved it to them.

"Come along, children," he cried. "You see, I am here to fetch you
myself. The sunshine has tempted me. What a heavenly morning! Come and
sit by my side, Esther, and fight your battle all over again. That is
one of the joys of golf, isn't it?" he asked, turning to Hamel. "You
need not be afraid of boring me. To-day is one of my bright days. I
suppose that it is the sunshine and the warm wind. On the way here we
passed some fields. I could swear that I smelt violets. Where are you
going, Esther?"

"To take my clubs to my locker and pay my caddy," she replied.

"Mr. Hamel will do that for you," Mr. Fentolin declared. "Come and
take your seat by my side, and let us wait for him. I am tired of being
alone."

She gave up her clubs reluctantly. All the life seemed to have gone from
her face.

"Why didn't mother come with you?" she asked simply.

"To tell you the truth, dear Esther," he answered, "when I started, I
had a fancy to be alone. I think--in fact I am sure--that your mother
wanted to come. The sunshine, too, was tempting her. Perhaps it was
selfish of me not to bring her, but then, there is a great deal to be
forgiven me, isn't there, Esther?"

"A great deal," she echoed, looking steadily ahead of her.

"I came," he went on, "because it occurred to me that, after all, I
had my duties as your guardian, dear Esther. I am not sure that we can
permit flirtations, you know. Let me see, how old are you?"

"Twenty-one," she replied.

"In a magazine I was reading the other day," he continued, "I was
interested to observe that the modern idea as regards marriage is
a changed one. A woman, they say, should not marry until she is
twenty-seven or twenty-eight--a very excellent idea. I think we agree,
do we not, on that, Esther?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I have never thought about the matter."

"Then," he went on, "we will make up our minds to agree. Twenty-seven or
twenty-eight, let us say. A very excellent age! A girl should know
her