er again, struck a match with trembling fingers and gave
her the cigarette. She smiled at him very faintly.

"Please go back now," she begged. "Smoke yourself, take me home slowly
and say nothing."

He obeyed, but his knees were shaking when he stood up. Slowly, a foot
at a time, they passed from the mesh of the lilies out into the broad
stream. Almost as they did so, the yellow rim of the moon came up over
the low hills. As they turned into their own stream, the light was
strong enough for him to see her face. She lay there like a ghost, her
eyes half closed, the only touch of colour in the shining strands of
her beautiful hair. She roused herself a little as they swung around. He
paused, leaning upon the pole.

"You are not angry?" he asked.

"No, I am not angry," she answered. "Why should I be? But I cannot talk
to you about it tonight."

They glided to the edge of the landing-stage. A servant appeared and
secured the punt.

"Is Sir Timothy back yet?" Margaret enquired.

"Not yet, madam."

She turned to Francis.

"Please go and have a whisky and soda in the smoking-room," she said,
pointing to the open French windows. "I am going to my favourite seat.
You will find me just across the bridge there."

He hesitated, filled with a passionate disinclination to leave her side
even for a moment. She seemed to understand but she pointed once more to
the room.

"I should like very much," she added, "to be alone for five minutes. If
you will come and find me then--please!"

Francis stepped through the French windows into the smoking-room,
where all the paraphernalia for satisfying thirst were set out upon the
sideboard. He helped himself to whisky and soda and drank it absently,
with his eyes fixed upon the clock. In five minutes he stepped once more
back into the gardens, soft and brilliant now in the moonlight. As he
did so, he heard the click of the gate in the wall, and footsteps. His
host, with Lady Cynthia upon his arm, came into sight and crossed
the lawn towards him. Francis, filled though his mind was with other
thoughts, paused for a moment and glanced towards them curiously. Lady
Cynthia seemed for a moment to have lost all her weariness. Her eyes
were very bright, she walked with a new spring in her movements. Even
her voice, as she addressed Francis, seemed altered.

"Sir Timothy has been showing me some of the wonders of his villa--do
you call it a villa or a palace?" she asked.

"It is certain