fore."

Cornelia turned to the window and gazed out on the forbidden grass of
the Park. Her face was hidden from view, and she answered by another
question, put in slow, thoughtful tones.--"What is love? You seem to
feel pretty certain that yours is the genuine article. Define it for
me! How do you feel when you are in dear Geoffrey's society?"

"Happy! so wonderfully happy that I seem to walk on air. Everything
seems beautiful, and I love everybody, and long to make them as happy as
myself. Nothing troubles me any more. It seems as if nothing could
_ever_ trouble me. Geoffrey's there! He is like a great big rock,
which will shelter me all my life."

"Do you feel one moment that it's the cutest thing in the world to sit
right there in the shade and be fussed over, and the next as if you
wanted to knock the rock down _flat_, and march away down your own road?
Do you feel blissful one moment and the next all worked up, and fit to
scratch? When he's kinder big and superior, and the natural protector,
do you feel ugly; or inclined to cave in, and honour and obey?"

Elma stared at her with shocked blue eyes.

"Of _course_ I'll obey! Geoffrey is so wise and clever. He knows so
much better than I. I'm only too thankful to let him decide for us
both. You talk so strangely, Cornelia; I don't understand--"

Cornelia swung round quickly, and kissed her upon the cheek.

"Never mind, sweetling!" she said fondly, "don't _try_ to understand!
You are better off as you are. It is women like you who have the best
time in the world, and are the most loved. I wish I were like you, but
I'm not, so what's the use of repining. I am as I wor' created!"

She laughed, but the laugh had a forced, unnatural sound. Elma saw with
dismay a glimmer of tears in the golden eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

For a whole week the battle raged; the battle between youth and age,
love and the world. Elma pleaded for patience and self-restraint,
Geoffrey urged defiance and independence; Mrs Ramsden quoted Scripture,
and made constant reference to serpents' teeth, while Madame remained
charmingly satirical, refusing to treat the matter otherwise than as a
joke, laughing at Geoffrey's rhapsodies, and assuring him that he was
suffering from an attack of sun, from which recovery would be swift and
certain. Rupert Guest and Cornelia hurried to and fro on the outskirts
of the fray, in the character of aides-de-camp carrying messages, an