isn't size that counts so much as the way things are arranged." In
another paragraph she referred to Mrs. Wilcox sympathetically, but the
news had not bitten into her. She had not realised the accessories
of death, which are in a sense more memorable than death itself. The
atmosphere of precautions and recriminations, and in the midst a human
body growing more vivid because it was in pain; the end of that body in
Hilton churchyard; the survival of something that suggested hope, vivid
in its turn against life's workaday cheerfulness;--all these were lost
to Helen, who only felt that a pleasant lady could now be pleasant no
longer. She returned to Wickham Place full of her own affairs--she had
had another proposal--and Margaret, after a moment's hesitation, was
content that this should be so.

The proposal had not been a serious matter. It was the work of Fraulein
Mosebach, who had conceived the large and patriotic notion of winning
back her cousins to the Fatherland by matrimony. England had played Paul
Wilcox, and lost; Germany played Herr Forstmeister some one--Helen could
not remember his name. Herr Forstmeister lived in a wood, and, standing
on the summit of the Oderberge, he had pointed out his house to Helen,
or rather, had pointed out the wedge of pines in which it lay. She had
exclaimed, "Oh, how lovely! That's the place for me!" and in the evening
Frieda appeared in her bedroom. "I have a message, dear Helen," etc.,
and so she had, but had been very nice when Helen laughed; quite
understood--a forest too solitary and damp--quite agreed, but Herr
Forstmeister believed he had assurance to the contrary. Germany had
lost, but with good-humour; holding the manhood of the world, she felt
bound to win. "And there will even be some one for Tibby," concluded
Helen. "There now, Tibby, think of that; Frieda is saving up a little
girl for you, in pig-tails and white worsted stockings but the feet
of the stockings are pink as if the little girl had trodden in
strawberries. I've talked too much. My head aches. Now you talk."

Tibby consented to talk. He too was full of his own affairs, for he had
just been up to try for a scholarship at Oxford. The men were down, and
the candidates had been housed in various colleges, and had dined in
hall. Tibby was sensitive to beauty, the experience was new, and he
gave a description of his visit that was almost glowing. The august and
mellow University, soaked with the richness of the w