lise before it's too late. If you go on thinking you can get your way
and encourage this feeling, the blow will be much heavier when you find
you can't."

"Oh!" cried Fleur, "help me, Father; you can help me, you know."

Soames made a startled movement of negation. "I?" he said bitterly.
"Help? I am the impediment--the just cause and impediment--isn't that
the jargon? You have my blood in your veins."

He rose.

"Well, the fat's in the fire. If you persist in your wilfulness you'll
have yourself to blame. Come! Don't be foolish, my child--my only
child!"

Fleur laid her forehead against his shoulder.

All was in such turmoil within her. But no good to show it! No good at
all! She broke away from him, and went out into the twilight,
distraught, but unconvinced. All was indeterminate and vague within her,
like the shapes and shadows in the garden, except--her will to have. A
poplar pierced up into the dark-blue sky and touched a white star there.
The dew wetted her shoes, and chilled her bare shoulders. She went down
to the river bank, and stood gazing at a moonstreak on the darkening
water. Suddenly she smelled tobacco smoke, and a white figure emerged as
if created by the moon. It was young Mont in flannels, standing in his
boat. She heard the tiny hiss of his cigarette extinguished in the
water.

"Fleur," came his voice, "don't be hard on a poor devil! I've been
waiting hours."

"For what?"

"Come in my boat!"

"Not I."

"Why not?"

"I'm not a water-nymph."

"Haven't you any romance in you? Don't be modern, Fleur!"

He appeared on the path within a yard of her.

"Go away!"

"Fleur, I love you. Fleur!"

Fleur uttered a short laugh.

"Come again," she said, "when I haven't got my wish."

"What is your wish?"

"Ask another."

"Fleur," said Mont, and his voice sounded strange, "don't mock me! Even
vivisected dogs are worth decent treatment before they're cut up for
good."

Fleur shook her head; but her lips were trembling.

"Well, you shouldn't make me jump. Give me a cigarette."

Mont gave her one, lighted it, and another for himself.

"I don't want to talk rot," he said, "but please imagine all the rot that
all the lovers that ever were have talked, and all my special rot thrown
in."

"Thank you, I have imagined it. Good-night!" They stood for a moment
facing each other in the shadow of an acacia-tree with very moonlit
blossoms, and the smoke from their cigarett