Good-bye! Take care of
yourself." Muriel's hand rested for an instant on his arm, and then
she was gone--a slim, short-skirted figure walking swiftly over the
grass.

He stood leaning on the gate watching her till a clump of trees
intervened between them, then lazily he straightened himself and began
to stroll back up the garden. He was not smoking. His face wore a
heavy, almost a sullen, look. He scarcely raised his eyes from the
ground as he walked.

Nearing the house the sudden sound of a window being raised made
him look up, and in an instant, swift as a passing cloud-shadow, his
moodiness was gone. Daisy was leaning on her window-sill, looking down
upon him.

Though she had not spoken to him for weeks, she gave him no greeting.
Her voice even sounded a trifle sharp.

"What are you loafing there for?" she demanded. "Why didn't you go
with Muriel to the hockey?"

He hesitated for a single instant. Then--for he never lied to
Daisy--quite honestly he made reply. "I didn't want to."

Her pale face frowned down at him, though the eyes had a soft light
that was like a mother's indulgence for her wayward child.

"How absurd you are! How can you be so lazy? I won't have it, Blake.
Do you hear?"

He moved forward a few steps till he was immediately below her, and
there stood with uplifted face. "What do you want me to do?"

"Do!" echoed Daisy. "Why, anything--anything rather than nothing.
There's the garden-roller over there by the tool-shed. Go and get it,
and roll the lawn."

He went off obediently without another word, and presently the clatter
of the roller testified to his submissive fulfilment of her command.
He did not look up again. Simply, with his coat off and shirt-sleeves
turned above his elbows, he tackled his arduous task, labouring up and
down in the soft spring rain, patient and tireless as an ox.

He had accomplished about half his job when again Daisy's voice broke
imperiously in upon him.

"Blake! Blake! Come in! You'll get wet to the skin."

He stopped at once, straightening his great frame with a sigh of
relief. Daisy was standing at the drawing-room window.

He pulled on his coat and went to join her.

She came to meet him with sharp reproach. "Why are you so foolish?
I believe you would have gone on rolling if there had been an
earthquake. You must be wet through and through." She ran her little
thin hand over him. "Yes, I knew you were. You must go and change."

But Grange's fing