you are
missing. Come out and play with me, Pierrette; I will not kiss even your
hands if you object. I can take you down next Sunday to a garden that I
know of on the river, and you shall pick red roses. Will you not come,
Pierrette?"

Joan sat on in the dark of her little attic (for if the lamp was not
required before supper Mrs. Carew had a way of not bringing it up until
it was quite dark) with the letter on her lap. She was making up her
mind to tell Landon about Gilbert, about her principles which had been
rather roughly shaken, about her ideas, which still held obstinate root
in her mind. If he loved her enough not to mind what was past, why
should she not marry him? She had proved once how bitter it was to stand
against the convictions of the world alone. His fortnight's absence had
shown her how unbearable the dullness of her days had become; she could
not struggle on much longer. Her mind played with the prospect of
consenting, of how it would open up new worlds to her, of what a change
it would bring into her life.

It was with a conviction anyway that great things might be in the
balance that she stepped into Landon's car on Sunday afternoon and
settled herself back against the cushions. They disregarded the
fortnight's lapse in their friendship; neither referred to it in any
way, and Landon was exceptionally cheerful and full of conversation on
the drive out. Joan was content to sit quiet and listen and to let her
eyes, tired of dusty files and hours of typewriting, feast on the
country as they flashed past.

The garden that he had promised her proved all that his descriptions had
claimed. It lay at the back of an old stone house, off the high road and
away from the haunts of the ordinary holiday makers. Landon had chanced
on it once and the place had taken a great hold on his imagination. One
could be so alone at the foot of the garden, where it sloped down to the
water's edge, that one could fancy oneself in a world of one's own.

The house itself was a quaint, old-fashioned building with small rooms
and tiny windows, but the walled-in garden where the roses grew, and the
river garden, which stretched right down to the brim of the river with
its fruit trees and tall scented grasses, were both beautiful. They had
tea out there, and they picnicked on the grass, watching the sun's
reflections playing hide and seek in the river.

After tea, Landon insisted on strolling round and collecting all the
rose