terley wants you to walk with her."

"Oh! bother! I was having such a dream!"

"Yes; you were smiling."

"I was dreaming that I could fly."

"Fancy!"

"I could see everything spread out below me, as close as I see you; I was
hovering like a buzzard hawk. I felt that I could come down exactly
where I wanted. It was fascinating. I had perfect power, Stacey."

And throwing her neck back, she closed her eyes again. The sunlight
streamed in on her between the half-drawn curtains.

The queerest impulse to put out a hand and stroke that full white throat
shot through the maid's mind.

"These flying machines are stupid," murmured Barbara; "the pleasure's in
one's body---wings!"

"I can see Lady Casterley in the garden."

Barbara sprang out of bed. Close by the statue of Diana Lady Casterley
was standing, gazing down at some flowers, a tiny, grey figure. Barbara
sighed. With her, in her dream, had been another buzzard hawk, and she
was filled with a sort of surprise, and queer pleasure that ran down her
in little shivers while she bathed and dressed.

In her haste she took no hat; and still busy with the fastening of her
linen frock, hurried down the stairs and Georgian corridor, towards the
garden. At the end of it she almost ran into the arms of Courtier.

Awakening early this morning, he had begun first thinking of Audrey Noel,
threatened by scandal; then of his yesterday's companion, that glorious
young creature, whose image had so gripped and taken possession of him.
In the pleasure of this memory he had steeped himself. She was youth
itself! That perfect thing, a young girl without callowness.

And his words, when she nearly ran into him, were: "The Winged Victory!"

Barbara's answer was equally symbolic: "A buzzard hawk! Do you know, I
dreamed we were flying, Mr. Courtier."

Courtier gravely answered

"If the gods give me that dream----"

From the garden door Barbara turned her head, smiled, and passed through.

Lady Casterley, in the company of little Ann, who had perceived that it
was novel to be in the garden at this hour, had been scrutinizing some
newly founded colonies of a flower with which she was not familiar. On
seeing her granddaughter approach, she said at once:

"What is this thing?"

"Nemesia."

"Never heard of it."

"It's rather the fashion, Granny."

"Nemesia?" repeated Lady Casterley. "What has Nemesis to do with
flowers? I have no patience with gardeners, and t