upon his
birthday kiss for her.

"Oh, very well," he said, half coldly. "If to see me again after a
fortnight means so little...."

"Guy," said Pauline, "you're not cross with me? And Father was so sweet
about you. He said, 'Is Guy coming to breakfast?' Guy, you mustn't mind
if I think a lot about everybody to-day. You see, this is my first
birthday when there has been you."

"Oh, don't remind me of the years before we met," said Guy. "I hate them
all. No, I don't," he exclaimed in swift penitence. "I love them all.
Hurry, darling girl, or we shall miss him."

Pauline's eyes were troubled by a question, behind which lurked a
fleeting alarm.

"Kiss me," she murmured. "I was horrid."

A kind of austerity informed their kiss of reconciliation, an austerity
that suited the sky of impending rain under which they were standing in
the light of the last wan sunbeam. Then they hurried to the churchyard,
where in the porch the Rector was looking vaguely round for company he
expected.

"Lucky my friend _Lorteti_ came out yesterday. This rain will ruin him.
You must take Guy to see that iris, my dear. Fancy! twenty-one to-day!
Dear me! dear me! Most remarkable!"

Pauline danced with delight behind the Rector's back.

"He thinks I'm twenty-one," she whispered. "Oh, Guy, isn't he sweet? And
he called you Guy. Oh, Francis," she cried, "do let me kiss you!"

There was a short debate on the probability of the rain's coming before
breakfast was done, but it was decided, thanks to Birdwood's optimism,
to accept the risk of interruption by sitting down outside. The table
was on the lawn, Pauline's presents lying in a heap at the head. As one
by one she opened the packets, everybody stood round her, not merely her
mother and father and sisters and Guy, but also Birdwood and elderly
Janet and Mrs. Unger the cook and Polly who helped Mrs. Unger.

"Oh, I'm so excited!" said Pauline. "Oh, I do hope it won't rain! Oh,
thank you, Mrs. Unger! What a beautiful frame!"

"I hope yaw'll find some one to put in it, miss," said Mrs. Unger with a
glance of stately admiration towards her present and a triumphant side
look at Janet, who after many years' superintendence of Pauline's white
fastness had brought her bunches of lavender and woodruff tied up with
ribbons. All the presents were now undone, among them Guy's green
volume, a paste buckle from Margaret, a piece of old embroidery from
Monica, and from Richard in India a pair of carved