cy!--she had been speculating if she should accept Arthur, if he
got to the point of offering himself.

But a shaft from Cupid's bow must have been shot from a slack string,
for Rosalind could remember how quickly she forgot Arthur Fenwick as
she took a good look at Gerry Palliser, his great friend, whom he had
so often raved about to her, and who was to be brought to play
lawn-tennis next Monday. And then to the ear of her mind, listening
back to long ago, came a voice so like the one she was to hear soon,
when that footstep should come on the stair.

"I can't waltz like Arthur, Miss Graythorpe. But you'll have to put
up with me." And the smile that spread over his whole face was so
like him now. Then came the allusion to _As You Like It_.

"I'll take you for pity, Mr. Palliser--'by my troth,' as my namesake
Rosalind, Celia's friend, in Shakespeare, says to what's his name ...
Orlando...."

"Come, I say, Miss Graythorpe, that's not fair. It was Benedict said
it to Beatrice."

"Did he? And did Beatrice say she wouldn't waltz with him?"

"Oh, please! I'm so sorry. No--it wasn't Benedict--it _was_ Rosalind."

"That's right! Now let me button your glove for you. You'll be for
ever, with those big fingers." For both of us, thought Rosalind, were
determined to begin at once and not lose a minute. That dear old time
... before...!

Then, even clearer still, came back to her the dim summer-dawn in the
garden, with here and there a Chinese lantern not burned out, and
the flagging music of the weary musicians afar, and she and Gerry with
the garden nearly to themselves. She could feel the cool air of the
morning again, and hear the crowing of a self-important cock. And the
informal wager which would live the longer--a Chinese lantern at the
point of death, or the vanishing moon just touching the line of
tree-tops against the sky, stirred by the morning wind. And the voice
of Gerry when return to the house and a farewell became inevitable.
She shut her eyes, and could hear it and her own answer.

"I shall go to India in six weeks, and never see you again."

"Yes, you will; because Arthur Fenwick is to bring you round to
lawn-tennis...."

"That won't make having to go any better. And then when I come back,
in ever so many years, I shall find you...."

"Gone to kingdom come?"

"No--married!... Oh no, do stop out--don't go in yet...."

"We ought to go in. Now, don't be silly."

"I can't help it.... Well!--a fellow