he slowed down a little, perforce; needing her breath for this new and
hopelessly intractable Roy.

"Really, I've never known you ask so many foolish questions in one hour
before. You must have drunk some potion up on the moor! Have you
forgotten you're my Bracelet-bound Brother?"

"But that doesn't bar--the other thing. It's not one of the Prayer-book
affinities! I say, Tara--you might promise to think it over. If you
can't do that much, I won't believe you care a bean about me, for all
you say----"

Her blue eyes flashed at that--genuine fire; and she stood still again,
confronting him.

"Roy--be _quiet_! You make me furious. I want to slap you. First you
suggest a perfectly crazy plan; then you worry me into a temper by
behaving like a spoilt boy, who won't take 'No' for an answer."

Roy straightened himself sharply. "I'm not spoilt--and I'm not a boy.
I'm a man."

"Well then, try and _behave_ like one."

The moment her impulsive retort was spoken, she saw how sharply she had
hurt him, and, with a swift softening of her expressive face, she flung
out a hand. He held it hard. And suddenly she leaned nearer; her lips
tremulous; her eyes melting into a half smile.

"Roy--darling," she murmured, barely above her breath. "You are
really--a little bit of all three. That's part of your deliciousness and
troublesomeness. And it's not your fault--the spoiling. We've all
helped. I've been as bad as the others. But this time--please believe--I
simply, utterly can't--even for you."

Words went from him. He could only cling to her hand.

But with a deft movement she freed herself--and fled round the corner of
the house; leaving him in a state of confusion worse confounded, to seek
his mother and the outraged teapot--alone.

He found her, companioned by the ruins of tea, in the depths of her
great arm-chair; eyes and fingers intent on a square of elaborate
embroidery; thoughts astray with her unpunctual son.

Bramleigh Beeches drawing-room--as recreated by Sir Nevil Sinclair for
his Indian bride--was a setting worthy of its mistress: lofty and
spacious, light filled by three tall French windows, long gold curtains
shot through with bronze; gold and cream colour the prevailing tone;
ivory, brass, and bronze the prevailing incidentals, mainly Indian; and
flowers in profusion--roses, lilies, sweet-peas. Yet, in the midst of it
all, the spirit of Lilamani Sinclair was restless, lacking the son, of
whom, too soon, both s