ride over the
sun-warmed heather, when he had paraphrased the old Sicilian song: 'Here
will I sit and sing.' He was a long way from singing now; nor was there
love in his arms. There was instead a cup of tea; and in his nostrils
the scent of cake, with now and then a whiff of orange-flower water.

"I see," he said, when she had finished telling him: "'Liberty's a
glorious feast!' You want me to go to your brother, and quote Bums? You
know, of course, that he regards me as dangerous."

"Yes; but he respects and likes you."

"And I respect and like him," answered Courtier.

One of the middle-aged females passed, carrying a large white card-board
box; and the creaking of her stays broke the hush.

"You have been very sweet to me," said Barbara, suddenly.

Courtier's heart stirred, as if it were turning over within him; and
gazing into his teacup, he answered--

"All men are decent to the evening star. I will go at once and find your
brother. When shall I bring you news?"

"To-morrow at five I'll be at home."

And repeating, "To-morrow at five," he rose.

Looking back from the door, he saw her face puzzled, rather reproachful,
and went out gloomily. The scent of cake, and orange-flower water, the
creaking of the female's stays, the colour of mahogany, still clung
to his nose and ears, and eyes; but within him it was all dull baffled
rage. Why had he not made the most of this unexpected chance; why had he
not made desperate love to her? A conscientious ass! And yet--the whole
thing was absurd! She was so young! God knew he would be glad to be out
of it. If he stayed he was afraid that he would play the fool. But the
memory of her words: "You have been very sweet to me!" would not leave
him; nor the memory of her face, so puzzled, and reproachful. Yes, if
he stayed he would play the fool! He would be asking her to marry a man
double her age, of no position but that which he had carved for himself,
and without a rap. And he would be asking her in such a way that she
might possibly have some little difficulty in refusing. He would
be letting himself go. And she was only twenty--for all her
woman-of-the-world air, a child! No! He would be useful to her, if
possible, this once, and then clear out!

CHAPTER XXI

When Miltoun left Valleys House he walked in the direction of
Westminster. During the five days that he had been back in London he
had not yet entered the House of Commons. After the seclusion of his