danced in Helena's eyes.

"None of them can say I don't treat them nicely!"

"I daresay. But I warn you I shan't accept the position for long. I shall
begin again."

"Well, but not yet!--not for a long time," she pleaded. Then she gave a
little impatient stamp, as she walked beside him.

"I tell you--I don't want to be bound. I won't be bound! I want to be
free."

"So you said--_a propos_ of Philip," he retorted drily.

He saw the shaft strike home--the involuntary dropping of the eyelids,
the soft catch in the breath. But she rallied quickly.

"That was altogether different! You had no business to say that,
Geoffrey."

"Well, then, forgive me--and keep me quiet--just--just one kiss, Helena!"

The last passionate words were hardly audible. They had passed into the
deepest shadow of the avenue. No one was visible in all its green length.
They stood ensiled by summer; the great trees mounting guard. Helena
threw a glance to right and left.

"Well, then--to keep you quiet--_sans prejudice_!"

She demurely offered her cheek. But his lips were scarcely allowed to
touch it, she drew away so quickly.

"Now, then, that's quite settled!" she said in her most matter-of-fact
voice. "Such a comfort! Let's go back."

They turned back along the avenue, a rather flushed pair, enjoying each
other's society, and discussing the dance, and their respective partners.

It happened, however, that this little scene--at its most critical
point--had only just escaped a spectator. Philip Buntingford passed
across the further end of the avenue on his way to the Horne Farm, at the
moment when Helena and Geoffrey turned their backs to him, walking
towards the house. They were not aware of him; but he stopped a moment to
watch the young figures disappearing under the green shade. A look of
pleasure was in his blue eyes. It seemed to him that things were going
well in that direction. And he wished them to go well. He had known
Geoffrey since he was a little chap in his first breeches; had watched
him through Winchester and Oxford, had taken as semi-paternal pride in
the young man's distinguished war record, and had helped him with his
election expenses. He himself was intimate with very few of the younger
generation. His companions in the Admiralty work, and certain senior
naval officers with whom that work had made him acquainted:--a certain
intimacy, a certain real friendship had indeed grown up between him and
some of them. But so