ht. It must. Nothing
can stop us now."

The rain had ceased. The blue had routed the gray, and driven it
from the sky. The sun, low down in the west, shone out bravely over
the lake. The air was cool and fresh.

Jimmy's spirits rose with a bound. He accepted the omen. This was
the world as it really was, smiling and friendly, not gray, as he
had fancied it. He had won. Nothing could alter that. What remained
to be done was trivial. He wondered how he could ever have allowed
it to weigh upon him.

After awhile, he pushed the boat out of its shelter on to the
glittering water, and seized the paddle.

"We must be getting back," he said. "I wonder what the time is. I
wish we could stay out forever. But it must be late. Molly!"

"Yes?"

"Whatever happens, you'll break off this engagement with Dreever?
Shall I tell him? I will if you like."

"No, I will. I'll write him a note, if I don't see him before
dinner."

Jimmy paddled on a few strokes.

"It's no good," he said suddenly, "I can't keep it in. Molly, do you
mind if I sing a bar or two? I've got a beastly voice, but I'm
feeling rather happy. I'll stop as soon as I can."

He raised his voice discordantly.

Covertly, from beneath the shade of her big hat, Molly watched him
with troubled eyes. The sun had gone down behind the hills, and the
water had ceased to glitter. There was a suggestion of chill in the
air. The great mass of the castle frowned down upon them, dark and
forbidding in the dim light.

She shivered.

CHAPTER XX

A LESSON IN PICQUET

Lord Dreever, meanwhile, having left the waterside, lighted a
cigarette, and proceeded to make a reflective tour of the grounds.
He felt aggrieved with the world. Molly's desertion in the canoe
with Jimmy did not trouble him: he had other sorrows. One is never
at one's best and sunniest when one has been forced by a ruthless
uncle into abandoning the girl one loves and becoming engaged to
another, to whom one is indifferent. Something of a jaundiced tinge
stains one's outlook on life in such circumstances. Moreover, Lord
Dreever was not by nature an introspective young man, but, examining
his position as he walked along, he found himself wondering whether
it was not a little unheroic. He came to the conclusion that perhaps
it was. Of course, Uncle Thomas could make it deucedly unpleasant
for him if he kicked. That was the trouble. If only he had even--say,
a couple of thousands a year of his own--he